


The Primitive & Sanctified

by Konigsberg



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Aphrodisiacs, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gentleness, M/M, Misunderstandings, Moral Dilemmas, Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12620740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konigsberg/pseuds/Konigsberg
Summary: Barba is still prickling all over with anger, disgust, and the most wretched sense of possession he can't shake when Carisi bursts into his office, apparently lacking the common sense needed to realize he should be far away from here."What the hell do you want?" Barba snaps, yet it comes out breathless and lost because, in the end, there's a part of him truly shaken."I-" Carisi closes his mouth like he thinks better of answering. Barba waits, half expecting him to start whining like a cornered animal, but instead he lifts his chin in challenge. "I need you to tell me how to make this work. Because I'm not leaving."In which Sonny and Rafael don't know what to do with each other, but then the answer becomes all too obvious.





	1. Sense

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little spooky story, but it's still sort of serious! (I apparently just can't write a fun Halloween story, I have to make it deep.)
> 
> There's lots of dark topics covered in this fic, and if you need more warnings than what's provided in the tags, there's more extensive ones in the end notes.

It’s a temptation for any intelligent person, and especially for perfectionists such as the ancients and ourselves, to try to murder the primitive, emotive, appetitive self. But that is a mistake.

Donna Tartt,  _The Secret History_

 

Liv had mentioned the possibility of a detective transferring in while Amaro is demoted. They had been sitting close, almost flush, in the corner of Rafael’s favorite bar, and he could tell something other than being away from Noah was nagging at her. She said something about the request and hoping for someone who would come prepared for the unique trials this unit presents, brows knit as she studied what he was eating, and that was it.

Rafael didn’t think much of it. He knew he’d be working with the new arrival, of course, but he had (and has) plenty of other things on his mind. There’s not much point in worrying over things like this, anyway. At least that’s what he had told himself when it first came up and he considered the possibility of getting another officer with anger issues, or an untreated gambling addiction for that matter.

What he can’t control is infuriating enough without driving himself up the wall about it, and he needs his energy to fret over Liv and Amaro right now, and this bitch of a case he’s been working alongside their most recent; Buchanan is going to be the death of him, of that he’s sure.

In all honesty, Rafael hadn’t been listening as closely as he should have been, lulled by Liv’s voice and the wine he was sipping as she explained it all, talking more to herself than to him. Nonetheless, he would have remembered this. Liv hadn’t said a word about what the detective _is_ , likely because she doesn’t _know_. Despite her determination and remarkable ability to adapt and thrive, Liv is only human, after all. Sometimes he forgets.

His own prejudices and assumptions mislead him further, when he finds himself in Liv’s office, with her gaze unfocused as she sorts through the case with him. A witness to Porter’s murder, and just when Olivia is finally settling in; Barba can only imagine the stress she’s suffering through.

“Trafficking girls,” she sighs, jaw tight as she clenches her teeth and eyes far away as she considers nightmares Rafael has never known. He hopes she’s still going to her therapist.

_Trafficking girls_. He leaves the precinct shortly after, breathing through his mouth to avoid the burning-bright, sweet scent of them, but it only allows him to taste it instead; it’s inescapable. Their kind are trafficked often, even when their true identities are unknown, as humans can sometimes recognize their use despite the weakness of mortal senses. Rafael doesn’t think much of it. There’s nothing he can do for them, but what he’s doing already.

He blames them, with their bird-bones and wet, wild eyes, for that sweetness in the air tickling his throat. It’s not the first-time scents such as these have flooded the precinct, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. Prostitutes, perps, the abused, and the abusers: Barba works with them all too often, as does this unit – probably many units, though the members may never know.

Passing a young girl as he leaves, he admires her inky hair and the bottomless eyes that stare up at him – at his mouth, and he knows it’s not her, but he can very easily imagine the juniper and penny-nickel scent wafting with her breath. He quickly looks away.

Even if it’s not her, it must be one of her fellows.

Unfortunately, this assumption leaves Barba in the position of walking into the precinct, catching the sickly-sweet scent of it in his nose –

He gasps, and it’s in his mouth, the taste so fucking lovely on his tongue, building in his throat, suffocating him, _killing him_. It’s strong, like sweat and spice and the rich iron of fresh blood. It hits him hard, a fist to his chest, and yet his steps don’t waver, and his mouth doesn’t fall open like a drowning man gasping for breath though he feels very much like one.  He stalks forward as if nothing has happened, as if his mind isn’t growing fuzzy, wetness isn’t pooling in his mouth, his teeth aren’t _aching_.

One is here, now, spreading its net, searching for some fool to catch up and eat alive. Some fool like Barba.

It’s so wickedly ironic and terrible, but Barba immediately knows this is the transfer – not the beautiful girls cursed to be abused or the abusers themselves, not them at all, but _him_.

The man turns to him with this vaguely nauseous expression (all wide eyes and this tortured smile that’s part excitement, part dread) that tells Barba the horror is mutual. Barba holds back a scowl until that mustache registers, then it’s twisting his face against his will.

Part of Rafael expects the transfer to appear appropriately cowed by his presence, or to look pleased with himself, the sick fuck, but instead he smiles, small and sad, and his eyes fall away. He’s submitting, but in such a way that leaves Rafael thrown, if only for a moment. As soon as he recovers from the fall-out emptiness in the pit of him, he squares his shoulders and plants himself before the blue-eyed devil, lips curling further.

“Oh, Barba,” Rollins says, as if she’s disappointed to see him, or perhaps she can sense his bitterness from a mile away and simply doesn’t feel like dealing with one of his moods. Barba hardly noticed her, far too distracted by the lanky beast next to her. “This is….”

“Carisi.” A hand is thrust between them. Rafael looks at it through slatted eyes, only now registering just how little space is still between them, and it’s all his own doing, at least in a sense. Something heavy settles on his chest, restricting his every breath further. “You can call me Sonny,” he adds, that smile growing more honest – _bolder_. These people are all so bold.

Barba eyes his cheap jacket and cheaper tie, giving him a solid once-over before meeting his gaze in challenge. His head is buzzing, his skin prickling with something he can’t bring himself to name, and he knows if he touches this man (with his goofy smile, too-slick hair, and that shitty tie Rafael wants to tear from his throat and burn, for the abomination it is or another reason he can’t say) he’ll break.

“The transfer,” Rafael states, his hands slipping into his pockets, the motion slow and purposeful as to draw attention to it.

Carisi’s smile falters, hand falling away. The juniper-sweet smell falters, too, and Rafael can now taste his nervous sweat on his tongue, sour and pathetic. Out of the corner of his gaze, he sees the flicker of Amanda’s eyes as she looks between them, likely confused if not entirely uncomfortable; judging by the smell of her own sweat, along with the stutter of her heart, he’s right.

“Uh, ah, yeah? Yeah! That’s me. The transfer.” Sonny’s smile is like a bird’s broken wing, and Barba wants to drag him out of the building when his chest tightens and his heart’s languid pulse decides to skip alongside Amanda’s. “Gonna be working here for a little,” he adds, looking at Barba hard, like he can somehow convey just what he means through vague statements and staring.

Barba quirks a brow. He’s not interested in translating whatever that means. “Alright.”

With that, he turns to Amanda, and asks for an update. She flounders, but quickly pulls herself together. As she speaks, he focuses more on what she doesn’t say than what she does. Her body means more; her pulse, breath, and scent are honest and true. He finds it all no different from how it has always been.

Carisi practically squirms by his side: shifting from foot to foot, tugging at his tie, and stuffing his hands in his pockets only to change his mind and take them out again. A sick sort of pleasure curls in Barba’s chest in response to the blatant discomfort, and that sourness rolling off him in waves.

Amanda, despite her humanity, is unaffected by Carisi’s presence. She must not smell the sex on Carisi, wrapped around him like a cloud. Perhaps that’s exactly what’s protecting her: those dull, prey senses too weak to catch the scent, to hear that the beat of Carisi’s heart is softer and slower than any mortal man’s, or to see the little flicker of his blue, blue eyes, far too subtle for any human to spot.

Barba focuses on him once more, unwavering as he meets his gaze. His eyes are beautiful – he’s beautiful. Bitterness spreads across Barba’s tongue, jaw tight. Those eyes are pleading, but he’s still not cowering.

“Detective,” Barba says, sharper than a tack. Before he can respond, Barba turns on his heel and strides into Liv’s office.

When the door closes, she jerks her head up, eyes wide behind her glasses and lips pursed. “Rafael,” she murmurs in greeting, lips pressed together. “What’s wrong?”

An answer is on his tongue, and yet it refuses to pass his lips as he closes the blinds. Pausing, he peers through them to Carisi, still in the same spot and staring right at him as if mortification has forced him to sprout roots. Expression tightening, Barba closes the last of them with a jerk of his hand.

“Rafael?” Her voice upticks, her worry crystal clear.

“I made a promise to you,” he begins, turning away from the window. The realization dawning on her face has the bitterness on his tongue spreading in turn. “When you agreed to help me. I don’t want to break that promise.”

Pushing back from her desk, Liv stares down at her hands and nods minutely. There is no hesitation, no reluctance – only acceptance. “Sit down.”

Dragging a hand over his face, Rafael sighs. “Liv–“

“Sit.”

Breath rushing through his teeth, he looks down at his feet and shakes his head. His attempts to meet her eyes have his own stinging, as if he’ll burst into tears the way he used to when his mother would ask if his father had hit him again. He shouldn’t be thinking of that at a time like this, and certainly shouldn’t be balling like a babe.

His hands are beginning to shake with adrenalin he hadn’t noticed building.

With anxiety comes a stale, sharp scent, and Olivia’s usual moss and Chypre perfume is tainted by it now. She swallows, slipping off her glasses before meeting his eyes. He gives her a moment to study him, expecting his expression will be enough for her to understand. Sure enough, she nods, whispering, “Alright.”

“Knowing this is dangerous,” Rafael begins, voice so rough it hurts his throat, like briars dragging over his skin and across his tongue, lips pricked as they fall into the air between them. “But so is not knowing.”

Again, her lips press together, and that staleness intensifies. “I can imagine, but… I think I’d rather stay in the dark.” She smiles, and it’s a sad, sad thing. “Unless we’re in danger.”

_We’re_. She’s always so focused on the whole, rather than the self. Barba has to hold back a sigh.

Glancing at the covered window, Barba considers this. His first instinct is that there’s no good reason for a creature like Carisi to be here, in a sex crimes unit, but he knows himself well enough to recognize that may be biased, if not hypocritical. Facing Liv once more, his mind returns to her stress, and her fear, both thick in his nose.

“I’m not sure,” he whispers, hollow.

Her eyes soften, smile lopsided and frail. “We never know, do we?”

Tongue darting over his lips, he steps closer; he imagines he can feel her warmth from even this far. “No, I suppose we don’t.”

Silence lingers between them, but they continue to look, searching each other for signs of cracks though all the signs are blatant enough already. She’s tired, and he wants to shield her from at least this, considering there’s little he can manage when it comes to protecting her family from what is to come. Shielding her, in this case, will mean leaving her veiled.

“If something strange happens,” he persists, “I need you to tell me.”

“Of course.”

He rubs his thumb over his forefinger, considering his options. Despite her decision, and his promise to keep her out of these matters as much as he can, the doubts linger. The taste of blood and juniper is still so strong on his tongue, Carisi clouding his other senses with his heartbeat thudding gently from the other room, he can’t think.

“Do you need it?” Snapped out of his thoughts, Rafael looks up to find Olivia’s hand has shifted to her sleeve as if preparing to roll it up for him. He shakes his head. “Are you sure? It’s been a while since you’ve fed.” Even as she says it, her hand is falling away. “I don’t know how this works for you, so I need you to tell me or I won’t know.”

Lips curling on their own, Rafael finally sits in front of her, sighing and leaning back. “I’m fine, don’t worry. That’s not it.”

She clearly doesn’t believe him, but thankfully she doesn’t call him on his lie.

He curls his hands around the arms of the chair, meeting her eyes. She’s sharper than him in so many ways, yet not sharp enough for this, and for that reason alone he will always be afraid for her; he doesn’t make a habit of being afraid of anything. “I won’t say anything more about this, just as I promised, but I need you to do something in return.”

As kind as she is, it’s no surprise she nods.

“Watch that new detective.”

Eyes widening and lips parting, for a moment he thinks Olivia is angry with him for revealing this much, but then her expression hardens. “I understand.”

Relief has his limbs growing soft, and he finally melts into the seat, eyes falling shut. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” she says, words lilting on her tongue, sweet with her friendship.

He drags a hand through his hair. Convincing himself that Olivia would still think that if she knew the truth – knew there’s an incubus waltzing around the precinct like he owns the place – is as impossible as he thought.


	2. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael may not be human, but he possesses no power to destroy one’s ability to consent to sex, or, more importantly, not to consent. Nonetheless, his kind will use and abuse the law and ignorance of humanity to get what they desire, and to feed upon them, he’ll admit to that.

The Roman genius, and perhaps the Roman flaw, was an obsession with order. One sees it in their architecture, their literature, their laws—this fierce denial of darkness, unreason, chaos.

Donna Tartt,  _The Secret History_

 

An incubus working as an SVU detective. It would all be very comedic, in a morbid way, if it weren’t so repulsive a thing.

An _incubus_. They feed on sex – on _rape_ , and drugged, constructed desire. Rafael has never truly interacted with one, or their feminine counterparts, but they are present in terrible numbers in this business. From vics to perps, he’s seen it all, and expects little of them as brutal as it is to admit. The mechanics of their existence are hazy to him, but he knows the gist: They get their victim to “consent” through manipulation and that vile, lovely smell that wreathes them. Involuntary erections, orgasms, and mindless lust – it’s no different from the mortal rapes Barba sees every day. True desire means little to their meal, in the end, with all their power and control over the victim’s perception.

Perhaps it’s prejudiced, or hypocritical, but safety can be as ugly as danger, and so Barba allows the repulsion to grow and spread. Each time he catches that damn smell, he thinks about the bleary, mind-numbing sensation that it instills when breathed in up close, and how easily such a potent thing could destroy a mortal entirely, no different than a roofie in a girl’s drink. Looking over his notes and the many files on trafficked girl after trafficked girl, the realization it would be oh so simple to use such a drug to make these girls – these 15, 14, 10-year-old _girls_ – to do whatever one asked sinks in, getting its hooks in him. He’ll let that rage overcome him, and before he knows it the papers in his hands will be shredded.

Rafael may not be human, but he possesses no power to destroy one’s ability to consent to sex, or, more importantly, _not_ to consent. Nonetheless, his kind will use and abuse the law and ignorance of humanity to get what they desire, and to feed upon them, he’ll admit to that.

It’s hard not to consider the sins of his own kind with Buchanan wheedling him, muttering about how sweet Carmen’s blood smells as Barba attempts to escape him. Despite the crowded halls and the crush of clueless mortals all around them, Buchanan manages to keep up.

“Surely you’ve had a taste,” he purrs, the noise low and creeping, crawling over Barba’s skin until his stomach is a hot, painful knot in his middle. “She’s just so… _precious_. All doe-eyed and young.”

His teeth grit, aching once more, and he flexes his fingers before balling his hands into fists. Trusting the intentions of an incubus in a unit such as this is nigh impossible when Rafael has seen the darkest, sickest parts of beings such as Carisi – such as himself. Such as Buchanan.

Carisi is likely no better than this man, using his abilities and gifts to take advantage of the weak, and to free the wretched of their kind. The belief that they’re superior is bred into beasts like them; Barba knows because it was bred into him, too, and his father reeked of the same delusions.

“You really haven’t taken a single sip?” Buchanan persists, lilting and mocking until the words are like pins to Barba’s skin. Perhaps Buchanan’s tongue truly is sharp enough to draw forth the blood he feeds on.

Heat crawls up his throat, and his fists tremble. It’s as if the air in the room is growing thicker, pressing in all around, intent to suffocate him. Each brush to his shoulders and arms has his hackles raising further, and the salty, rancid smell of Buchanan’s pleasure leaves his stomach roiling.

“ _Carmen_ ,” Buchanan murmurs as if testing it on his tongue.

His smell is so strong even in the clutch of bodies around them, the reporters and judges and everyone else rushing about, all oblivious to the wolves hidden in their midst. Traitorous as his thoughts are, it’s little surprise Barba’s wanders to Carisi’s juniper and fire, oh so pleasing in comparison to Buchanan’s heavy cologne and natural stink.

Barba has been forced to share the same air as the beast a handful of times since their first meeting, and each time Carisi attempted to reach out (sometimes quite literally) to him; each time he was denied contact. Rafael can’t trust a man with a built-in date-rape drug for breath under any circumstances, but especially under these.

Over the years, experience has taught him the immortal and monstrous involve themselves in human politics and law for pure reasons very rarely. Instead, it is typically to protect their kind from the consequences of using and abusing mortals. An incubus working sex crimes is such a blatant conflict of interest that Barba can’t recall ever hearing of such a thing being attempted let alone allowed. Though Liv may be unable to recognize what Carisi is, there are plenty in higher places than her that are perfectly capable of telling (upon first sight, too, just as Rafael was). He should have been caught, and stopped, long before this point.

Each incubus or succubus who commits a rape or assault will escape proper punishment thanks to his meddling, allowed to continue their abuse of the weak thanks to one beast who slipped through the cracks before them. Rafael knows how this goes. He’s seen it with werewolves, who always sneak their kind out of holding after rough full moons, and fae, who do whatever they can to enable their kind to continue kidnapping mortals.

“What a pretty….” Buchanan shutting up is never a good sign. Barba pauses, turning to find he has gone still as well, head tilted as to catch a scent. And with a twist of his head, Barba catches it, too. “Smell,” Buchanan finishes, almost wary.

It’s a pretty scent, and even more disgusting for it. Sighing, Barba turns expecting Carisi to slip from within the crowd to stand before him, that uncertain smile already on his face, but he’s not there. Barba’s teeth are hurting so terribly the pain is transforming into a headache unlike any other.

Unspeakable dread crawls up his throat and loops about his heart like a snake. Desperate, he searches for Carisi (the utter _fool_ ) in the crowd, practically standing on tiptoe to see over heads and shoulders, not caring if he looks as foolish as Carisi in this moment. Buchanan will grab him, take him, and eat him alive as soon as he has the chance.

“ _An incubus_ ,” he’ll say, salivating and teeth growing sharp. “ _What a treat!_ ”

Barba has been so caught up in considering the consequences for others, only now does he consider just what may happen to the fool himself. At the end of the day, an incubus is dangerous, but there are far worse beasts roaming about. Carisi would make Buchanan’s dream conquest, no doubt, considering the pathetic way he preens over every other entity imaginable, even at work.

“Fucking Christ,” Rafael hisses, keeping his back to Buchanan lest he see the amusement again and his control snap under the weight of it.

A hand closes around his wrist. Jerking away from the touch, Barba turns to find Carisi looming over him, eyes owlish as if Barba was the one who just grabbed him and not the other way around. “Barba.”

“Carisi.”

“Oh _my_ ,” Buchanan says.

Flushing down his throat, Carisi takes a stumbling step away from them both, eyes on Buchanan the way a man stares down a gun. “Uh.”

“Carisi, this is Buchanan. His acquaintance is truly a displeasure, I suggest not wasting your time and cheer on him.”

Carisi blinks owlishly, reminding Barba of his mother’s fish and how it stares blankly at you no matter where you sit, brainless and hopeless in equal measure. Frustration should grip him, and yet Barba finds the small, shriveled part of him that still burns with empathy and protective instincts awakening. This beast will be the death of him, and all because he has a pretty face.

Through some miracle, Buchanan holds back, eyeing Sonny not with interest but something close to the same repulsion Barba has been burdened with for days, now. “Carisi,” Buchanan repeats, testing the name on his tongue. Carisi’s blatantly annoyed, face tight and eyes lingering on Barba as if blaming him for putting him in a position of speaking to Buchanan at all.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

Barba pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright. What were you here for?”

“You,” Carisi answers simply. “Carmen said you’d be here. I went to your office first.”

“I see,” Barba mutters, even as Buchanan smirks and murmurs, “Ah, Carmen.”

Eyes sliding to Buchanan, Carisi’s scent goes bitter around the edges, like a cat unfurling claws. “Right. Anyway, I need to talk to you.”

“Well, I’m here. Say what you need.”

Carisi shakes his head, swallowing. “Alone.”

Barba turns to Buchanan just in time to catch the slow drag of his tongue over his lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to yourselves.” Carisi goes stiff as a board, the tendon in his jaw standing stiff. He looks ready to commit murder, and Barba wouldn’t bother stopping him. Before he actually goes, likely seeking to gain the greatest response he can, Buchanan leans close, ducking his head low enough to whisper in Barba’s ear. “Broken toys aren’t as fun, are they?”

Blunt nails digging into his palms, Barba counts down from ten. “Threaten him – go ahead. He’s not mine.”

Buchanan laughs, loud and raucous in his ear, and then he’s gone.

The tension rushes from Carisi’s body like water freed from a dam. His hands are shaking, and his expression is so haunted that Barba finds himself taking Carisi by the wrist. His touch is gentle to counter the slight roughness Carisi had touched him with, and he guides Carisi to the nearest restroom as quickly as he can without drawing attention to them.

“I’m sorry,” Carisi rasps, his voice frayed around the edges like snagged silk. “I’m sorry.”

Something heavy and wretched settles in Barba’s chest; reluctantly, he names it guilt.

“Just come with me.”

Carisi doesn’t say another word.

In the bathroom, Carisi finally breaks from Barba’s hold and strides to the sink. He turns the cold water on, taking huge handfuls to splash in his face again, again, again. The weight in his chest grows as he watches, the vulnerability of this unsettling beyond words, and yet he can’t look away.

For the first time, it strikes him that Carisi may think as lowly of vampires as Barba thinks of incubi. Judging by the awkward set of his shoulders as he leans heavily against the sink, it’s something even worse. Perhaps Buchanan isn’t the only vampire who lusts for oddities, and seeks to take them, and perhaps Carisi has been forced to face them the way Barba has faced incubi who rape and manipulate without hesitation.

Barba hangs back, suddenly hyper-aware of his teeth and sealed lips.

Taking a breath, Carisi raises his head, meeting Rafael’s eyes in the mirror. He offers the weakest smile Barba has ever seen on his face. It doesn’t light up his eyes, and only then does Rafael realize that his smiles always do.

“Sorry,” he repeats. The word is like a knife to the heart. Barba can’t take his eyes from Sonny’s lips in the mirror.

“For what?” Barba asks after too long a pause.

He motions to the sink – to himself. “I, uh. I don’t have a problem with… what he is,” Carisi murmurs, careful. He turns, his eyes wide and searching. “I don’t.”

Mouth dry, Barba finds himself unable to speak.

Twisting his lips and dragging his fingers through his hair, Sonny allows his gaze to fall away. “I didn’t want to give you that impression.”

Barba covers his eyes with a hand, ducking his head. His chest is full of briars.

“I- Barba? Was it something I said? I mean,” he laughs, brittle. “It was, I’m not-“

“Carisi.” It comes soft from his lips – much softer than Barba intended. “It’s alright.”

His lips part, mouth working for just a moment, and then he practically melts right there, shoulders rolling back and chin falling to almost hit his chest. Barba sucks in a breath against his better judgement to find Carisi’s scent has returned to spice and earthy darkness. It’s beautiful, and Barba is helpless to it, stepping closer without thought.

When Carisi raises his head, his eyes have gone soft and tired, and his smile reaches them again. “Y’know, you’re a lot nicer than you try to act.”

A scoff puffs from Barba’s lips, which quirk upwards against his will. “You’re sorely mistaken, I’m afraid.”

Sonny’s laugh is brighter than it has any right to be. “That’s just what you want us to think.”

Barba shakes his head, taking his eyes from Carisi for only a moment, and when he meets his eyes again his smile has fallen away once more. With it gone, Barba’s chest has returned to its aching. Carisi is looking at his mouth.

“What was it that you needed to talk to me about?” Barba demands, lips pressed together tightly.

Carisi’s mouth quirks, eyes trailing away. “The case. I had questions about the case. But… those can wait for another time,” he decides, pushing off the sink. “I should go. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“You’ve done no such thing,” Barba insists.

Cutting his eyes at him, Sonny smirks. “You can’t hide it.”

Huffing with his indignance, Rafael opens his mouth to bite back, but Carisi is already leaving, laughter trailing after him.

Barba stands there, in the middle of the restroom, for another long moment, unable to convince himself to leave until the last of Carisi’s sweetness has been greedily breathed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I haven't had a chance to respond to all the comments yet, but they mean a lot! For those interested, check out my tumblr: khem-our where I post lots of writing.


	3. Transduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t remember crossing the room. He doesn’t remember leaving it. He doesn’t remember crossing to where Carisi stands, or reaching out to him, or the first contact of skin against skin.

Catch my name for kicks

Thinking I would be right by your side  
I don't feel adequate  
Thinking I'm a monster in disguise

Hayley Kiyoko, _Gravel to Tempo_

 

Barba doesn’t immediately confront him, or anyone else. He simply watches, carefully collecting information and tucking it away for later.

Carisi guzzles coffee, and he likes it black or sugar-sweet – no in-between. He makes bad jokes about being Italian, and talks to Amanda in the language to make her laugh until she snorts, his accent mangling it so fully Barba finds himself smirking along with her at times. Each time, Sonny will spin around, catch his eye, and his grin will stretch so wide it must ache. Rafael isn’t sure how he knows he’s there, but he always seems to realize only once his lips curl. Perhaps he can smell Rafael the way Rafael smells him, or he catches Amanda’s body language shifting when he draws near. Maybe he hears Rafael’s breath shift, just as Rafael hears his.

Carisi tells Barba he’s going to law school, and asks him all sorts of questions as if Barba is as good as a professor in his eyes. He’ll show up at Barba’s office with some example of precedent in relation to the case, and babble until he’s forced to clear his throat and gulp down coffee. It’s more annoying than helpful, and it’s unclear if this is all to prove something, or simply in Carisi’s nature.

So far, he’s said nothing about what he is, or what Barba is, though the persistent glances at Barba’s lips tell him Carisi is well aware.

Just as all of his kind are, Carisi is prettier than he has any right to be, but he’s also loud and obnoxious, and his accent nightmarish. At least he gets rid of his mustache relatively quickly into his stay at the unit. Still, his ties are thin and cheap, and his suits aren’t much better.

Barba would expect a creature like him to preen and carry on, doing everything in his power to appeal to the desires of its prey, but instead it’s as if his goal is the opposite. He hides in poorly constructed suits, behind that horrid facial hair, and the prickly behavior brash, youthful boys carry more often than men of his age. He’s too bold, too eager, and yet not bold or eager at all, at least not in the ways Rafael ever anticipated. He’s so determined to prove himself, he hardly appears the lustful, gluttonous monster who feeds on cum and ardor.

Carisi doesn’t let the annoyance of others direct his behavior – he doesn’t let much of anything direct his behavior, in fact. He’s fresh, and unsettled in a way that makes Barba warier than his nature alone does. The supernatural always functions best in mortal society when tethered in some way, as Rafael is to his mother and work, and it’s clear to him Carisi is without a foundation. He tells Amanda about his struggle to find a good apartment, and Fin about bouncing from unit to unit before his arrival here, fidgeting with his tie as he does.

He mentions sisters – many of them – and there are hints of a woman in his life, if the other detectives’ teasing is anything to go by. It doesn’t fit into the picture of an incubus Barba has been unconsciously painting in his mind: A loner, no family or partner to hold him down or back from feeding; surely many siblings due to the nature of the beast, but few ties between them, as they’d be too numerous for a true family unit to develop; and many, many partners to feed upon rather than just one woman he carefully tiptoes around mentioning, scratching his head and keeping his eyes down when the subject is brought up.

Showing the vics empathy is both easy, and difficult for him. He trips through it, fumbling like the child he so clearly is, too bold in this way as well. He messes up, and apologizes without any hint of a wounded pride. He hangs on every critique, no matter how harsh. He’s too good a student, at least for Barba’s taste, and Rafael must question if he truly has taken on the role of teacher without his knowledge.

Barba can’t pin him down, and that makes him all the more dangerous.

And then there’s another girl, one forced into prostitution, barely 16. When Barba arrives, Sonny is already pleading to speak to her, voice sharp and brittle around the edges with a need Barba has never seen him exhibit. He steps into the room, and he can smell it, lingering though she’s in another space entirely.

“Let him,” he says, immediately. There is no hesitation, as he’s no longer thinking, simply acting, which is truly a dangerous thing.

Olivia looks at him as if he’s bared his fangs in public, and for all he knows he may have. He clenches his teeth, and they’re perfectly dull. His tongue may have slipped, but his control is still here when it matters.

Carisi turns, eyes alight, and his lips form around words which refuse to come forth, so Barba speaks for him. “Just let him. If he’s so eager. He can do damage, but only so much.”

Rollins, from the corner, scoffs.

And so Sonny is let in. Barba stands back from the glass, restraining himself from pressing closer. The girl’s nose flares, and her eyes narrow, then soften.

Sonny takes a seat, more towards the end of the table than directly across from her, and specifically far from the door. He’s allowing her an opening. “Hey.”

Her eyes flit across his face, then his mouth, and finally his hands. “Hey.”

He inclines his head, looking at her with an expression that speaks volumes Barba will never understand. His hand slips from the table, and she stiffens, glancing at the window she knows they’re watching from. Carisi pulls out a handful of candy bars, of all things, and lays them out across the table. “I always liked Babe Ruths when I was your age, but now I can’t stop eating Milky Ways, for some reason.”

She turns her face away from the window. “I’m not picky,” she says, firm. But she’s quick to add, “I like Butterfingers.”

Carisi smiles, sedate in a way Barba has never seen him. “Will you tell me about it?”

And she does.

 

 

 

Barba should ask him. Should talk to him about limits, and rules. Set clear barriers between what Carisi is, and what Carisi does. Should put his foot down, now, before his hand is forced.

Instead, when Carisi exits the room, his hands trembling just slightly (the motion so miniscule Barba wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the only one to see it), Barba grabs him by the wrist without thinking.

He doesn’t remember crossing the room. He doesn’t remember leaving it. He doesn’t remember crossing to where Carisi stands, or reaching out to him, or the first contact of skin against skin.

Carisi tucks his chin, looking down at Rafael’s hand, and then to his eyes. His lips purse, but it looks more like a pout. Maybe he makes that face in bed – maybe he’d make it were Barba to press him to the wall and slide his hand along his cock only to stop just before he falls apart with pleasure.

“Barba?” His hand is still shaking – perhaps more so now that Rafael is touching him.

Rafael drops his hand, nausea curling up in his stomach. Thoughts like that have no place here; they will only end in discomfort, if not pain. “Come with me.”

“Rafael?” Olivia calls, and when he turns he finds her eyes dark with the mortal fear of the unknown. She asked to be kept from this, and so she’ll be shielded. He shakes his head, and the fear slips from her face. She nods, gaze shifting to Carisi. “Good job.”

Something brushes against Rafael’s sleeve, and he jumps like a creature of prey. It’s just Sonny, his fingers stilling with his mortification, then falling away. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, his eyes wide and distant, focused anywhere but on Barba.

When Rafael looks back, Olivia’s brows are raised; he jerks his head to the side, trying to convey that _no_ , no it’s not what she’s thinking. Her brows inch higher, as if his thoughts from before, and his sudden thoughts of licking into Carisi’s mouth to taste him, are written all over his face. He doesn’t have time to do damage control for both Carisi and her.

Glancing over Carisi, and all his sharp angles and collapsed shoulders, searching for some place suitable to grab him by, he settles on the elbow. Carisi’s lips lift at the corners, wavering as if it takes a monumental effort to do so, and then fall once more. His eyes are wet and brimming with misery.

His scent is sour at the back of Rafael’s throat.

“I’m commandeering your office,” he decides, speaking to Liv though he doesn’t look at her.

“Uh….” It’s the beginnings of an objection, he knows her well enough to know just what she’s about to say, but she stops herself. “Just for a minute,” she concedes.

He has Carisi in the office, the door locked, and the blinds shut far too quickly. He’s barely restraining his abilities, letting the visage of human normalcy slip in his rush. It’s not worth fretting over, though – not when Carisi is trembling beneath his fingertips as if he’s about to fall apart.

Barba slides his thumb over Carisi’s bicep, feeling his heat through the fabric between them. The click of Carisi’s throat as he swallows is so loud it leaves Rafael’s teeth aching. Swaying closer, Carisi won’t meet his eyes, but he does cover Rafael’s fingers with his own, touch light. Focusing on his expression, Rafael watches as his lips part and his lids grow heavy, as if he’s suddenly exhausted just by Rafael’s touch.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, Carisi collapses into one of the chairs against the wall. The urge to look away is great, but his pride is torn between looking on as if unmoved by the sprawl of Carisi’s legs and looking away as if uninterested in it. The draw of studying Carisi’s hands trumps them all, though.

“I… know what you must think of me.” Carisi’s eyes are focused down, giving Rafael the chance to admire how his hair falls out of its part. “But I don’t - I didn’t – I didn’t do anything in there. I just talked, I really did. Nothing more.”

Barba knows this much, but he doesn’t stop Carisi. It feels cruel, in a way, but he’s been waiting to hear this, and cruelty is something he’s grown numb to, at least in ways.

“I don’t use my, uh, abilities to hurt anybody. I don’t.” His hands, their shaking worsening, move to cover his eyes. “Just messes me up. Sometimes. I-I can do this job, don’t get me wrong!” he adds, looking up at Barba with painful adamancy. “I’m not gonna let my personal life get in the way.”

“ _Carisi_ ,” he sighs, shifting his weight to one foot and slipping his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t drag you in here to berate you for your unprofessional conduct.”

He blinks. “Uh, you didn’t?”

Rafael rolls his eyes though the assumption is perfectly reasonable. “No. I just want to discuss your nature.”

“My… nature,” he repeats, as if it feels foreign on his tongue – as if the words taste of ash. His mouth pinches, and he looks petulant, like a child. In that moment, it’s unclear how he ever manages to play the role of seductor. “You mean me being an incubus?”

“Yes.”

Sonny rolls his tongue over his teeth. He reeks of sweat and anxiety, and the scent lingers firmly at the back of Rafael’s tongue, refusing to go away. “What about you?”

Rafael raises an eyebrow.

“You being,” Carisi waves a hand at him, vague, “a vampire.”

Rafael rolls his eyes again, fingers twitching in his pockets. “I’m not a vampire.” It comes out far rougher than he intended, his voice barely his own; he bites his tongue. He can’t quite meet Carisi’s eyes.

Carisi’s brows knit together.

“Not exactly.”

It’s not what he’s expecting, but Carisi smiles, honest and subdued. “Well, maybe we should talk about that too.”

His shoulders are more relaxed than they’ve been in a week, and his eyes are soft with something Barba doesn’t care to name. He doesn’t want to do this, and yet he does, like a fool. In the end, he nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! It means so much!


	4. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you,” Carisi breathes out. “For not-not thinking it.”
> 
> Rafael’s skin prickles with his guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo sorry for the delays. Finals are over, though, so things will be running smoother.

I thought of Bacchae, a play whose violence and savagery made me uneasy, as did the sadism of its bloodthirsty god. Compared to the other tragedies, which were as dominated by recognizable principles of justice no matter how harsh, it was a triumph of barbarism over reason: dark chaotic, inexplicable.

Donna Tartt, _The Secret History_

 

Carisi shifts beneath his gaze as if the burden is crushing. “Now that I’ve got you here, I honestly don’t know what to say.” He laughs at himself, humble even in his moments of unease; maybe it’s because he must. His eyes slip from Barba’s face to the other side of the room, looking away now as if uncertain he’s allowed to, but there’s a smile that lingers around his lips. “What about you?”

Maybe everything from Sonny’s cheer to his desire to prove himself is a carefully constructed identity, one that keeps him safe from detection and thus harm, not unlike Barba’s prickliness that has developed over the years. The silver tongue and bite, the wit, the suits, the charm – everything.

With one shift in perception, Barba sees his ragged ties and poor-fitting suits in a new light. He’s hiding behind them, masking everything so desirable about him. The mustache, even, could have been a mask. His desperation to be of worth, to do some good, around the precinct goes against the desire to hide but only due to some guilt over his own identity. It’s perhaps the most innocent thing Rafael has ever seen, and the most painful to watch.

The realization has something dark and ugly opening in Rafael’s chest like a hungry maw, placing pressure on his lungs – his heart. He closes his eyes and carefully turns away from Carisi, needing the illusion of space, but Carisi’s scent is still there: sour with sweat but even so still appealing. Taking a deeper breath on instinct, Rafael’s eyes flutter open, and he finds himself moving to sit in the chair by Carisi’s side before he can stop himself.

Judging by his wide, searching eyes, Carisi is as befuddled by his actions as Rafael himself. “I’ve never had the opportunity to speak to an incubus,” Rafael says in explanation. “To be completely honest, I know very little about your kind.”

“Oh,” he murmurs. “I can explain. If you’d, uh, like.”

Rafael’s lips curl without his permission. “Alright.”

Carisi clears his throat, shifting around in his chair once more. He’s careful to avoid brushing against Rafael’s arm. “Well… I guess there are… obvious things. Like what I – eat.”

Rafael snorts.

That earns a pretty smile in response, Carisi’s eyes crinkling. “I’ll spare you the details. But, uh, the stereotypes… not all of us….”

The spark of pleasure that has been curling in the pit of Rafael’s stomach is put out. He shifts to open his body to Carisi, a habit that has formed over years working with victims, and yet one that goes against his natural instinct when faced with a demon. “You don’t have to say it.”

“I need to,” he mutters, tongue curling over his lips in a flash. “We’re not rapists. Nobody is born to be a rapist. Nobody has to rape to survive.” He swallows, and Rafael’s gaze drops to his throat, so pale and pretty. Pretty all over, the poor bastard. “I’ve never raped anyone,” he continues, voice low. His hands move jerkily, struggling to find something to do with them, or somewhere to put them. “I would never.”

The mouth full of fangs stretches wider still in Rafael’s chest. His suit is suddenly too hot.

When Carisi’s eyes meet his own, they’re hard and desperate in a way that pierces Rafael’s heart. “I really-“

“I believe you,” Rafael cuts in. “That’s not why I’m here.”

He must have said the magic word, as Carisi melts back into his chair, eyes sliding closed and breath leaving him in the softest sigh. With his head resting on the wall, his throat is revealed over the collar of his shirt, oh so beautiful. Rafael focuses his gaze on Carisi’s hands.

“Thank you,” Carisi breathes out. “For not-not thinking it.”

Rafael’s skin prickles with his guilt.

“I want – I just wanna say, I’m here because I want to help. Not just my people, but everyone who has gone through these things. I’ve… been there,” he confesses, the words barely a whisper. His eyes squeeze shut, and he rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Seen my sisters go through it. All of it.”

Rafael reminds himself to breathe. It’s one thing to hear these stories time and time again from complete strangers Rafael will likely never see again, and another entirely to hear them from a man he must work with – a man he’s seen smile and laugh and fall asleep in his office.

“So… that’s it. I guess. I’m not sure what else you might… want to ask.”

Rafael looks at him and his soft eyes, his fisted hands. Buchanan comes to mind, and how his expression had changed as he breathed in Carisi’s scent. Rafael grits his teeth.

Carisi is soft, and it’s terribly obvious – so much so it’s unbearable. Rafael turns away, unable to look at him any longer.

 “ _She’s just so…_ precious _. All doe-eyed and young_.”

Gripping the arms of the chair, Rafael pushes himself to his feet. “I need to ask you to do something.”

Carisi, so soft and so pretty, perks up visibly, his back straightening and shoulders squaring as if he’s just been called to attention. _Anything_ , his body seems to say. _Anything you ask_. And that’s just what has Rafael’s stomach churning.

“You’re going to law school.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I-I mean I’ve told you that.”

It’s difficult not to smile. “Are there any lawyers you speak to other than your professors and me?”

“Uh – I – No, you’re the main ADA we work with – but you know that, so-“

Meeting his eyes, Rafael intones, “It needs to stay that way.”

Carisi’s lips purse and his brows knit. “I… don’t follow.”

His mouth is dry, and the press of his tongue to the roof of his mouth practically hurts. “It’s a great deal to ask, so I won’t bother, but you need to avoid every lawyer you may encounter – during this job, your schooling, anything.”

Carisi’s laugh is uncomfortable and quaking. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

Swallowing the frustration, Rafael tightens his jaw. “Make it possible,” he bites, standing. “And from now on, there will be no contact between you and I outside of our work.”

“ _What_?” Carisi practically jumps to his feet, reaching for Rafael – wavering – then deciding. His fingers are long and inelegant, rough around his arm though it’s clear they don’t mean to be. Rafael can’t stand to meet his eyes; he shrugs him off, and Carisi immediately releases him as if he’s been struck rather than gently brushed away. “Barba, I-I don’t understand –“

“You don’t need to. Just don’t come around anymore,” Rafael says in a rush. He can’t turn his back on Carisi fast enough. “And whatever you do, don’t speak to Buchanan,” he adds, sharper still. He pauses, expecting Carisi to object or to even grab his arm again, but he makes no noise and Rafael is unwilling to chance looking back.

With that, he flees like a coward, his heart racing with his weakness. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s out of the building entirely, breathing in deeply when he’s finally free of Sonny’s scent.

 

 

Rita keeps glancing at Rafael out of the corner of her eye, the weight of her judgement heavy on his shoulders. Determined not to give in, he keeps his gaze on the drinks he’s pouring.

Sharing the new unit secret with her isn’t exactly safe, not only due to her job but due to what she is as well, and Rafael would say nothing if he could. That’s not an option, however, because as soon as she catches a whiff of Carisi she’ll know. He’d much rather face her like this, than deal with the wrath he’ll face if he attempts to hide such a poorly kept secret from her.

It’s not like he has anyone else to go to for help dealing with the situation, either. She’s his best option, which makes him realize just how ridiculous a position he’s in to be forced to come to her, of all people, for a lesson on incubi. He really needs to get out more.

Sighing dramatically, Rita shifts until she’s leaned against the arm of the couch, legs stretched across the place where Barba was once seated. “You haven’t invited me to your apartment in _years_ , and that’s your best scotch. Olivia stop feeding you?” She’s clearly far too interested in the answer to that. Rafael only spares a moment for the wounded feeling to sink in, his bitterness manifesting like a burr in his chest, then he quickly stifles it. “Feeding from one mortal really is a terrible idea, you know. Just let me give you the number of that bank I use.”

“What? So you’re free to pursue her blood?” Barba scoffs. “I think not.”

“So I’m free to pursue _her_.”

He pauses. Glancing over his shoulder, brow raised, Rita casually tilts her head and casts her eyes away. He frowns. “It’s not sexual.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she counters, fingers playing across her lips. At his expression, she frowns. “Do you want it to be?”

“ _No_. I’m just not sure how I feel about your attraction to someone I consider a dear friend.”

That earns a dark, sparkling laugh from her. “So, Olivia isn’t the reason I’m here? Or maybe you want to give me some sort of talk about how you’ll have my head if I hurt her?”

“Believe it or not, I was completely unaware of your attraction before just now,” he mutters, returning to the couch to pass her drink over. He pats her legs to get her to move them off the couch faster, then quickly takes up the space, so she doesn’t have a chance to change her mind. “As much as it pains me to say it, I need your advice.”

She perks up, eyes alight and brows raised. “Oh?”

Rolling his eyes, he gives himself one last moment to consider dropping this and pretending it’s not happening. Instead of avoiding it any longer, he plunges on. “There’s an incubus working in the SVU.”

Rita’s eyes go wide, and she sets her drink on the coffee table. “You can’t be serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

She stares, lips parted. “No.”

“Yes.”

Smiling, disbelieving, she shakes her head. “What a world.”

“Yes, what a world. I need you to keep this between us, and….” He swallows, staring at her glass. He shakes his head. “I don’t know much at all about them.”

Breathing out heavily, she snatches up her glass again and knocks it back. “Don’t drink his blood,” she orders, her glass clinking against the table as she returns it to the table. “Unless you want to have sex, that is.”

Rafael chokes on air, turning away from Rita to cough into the crook of his elbow. She laughs at him, the sound disconcertingly sweet. “ _Rita_ ,” he rasps, facing her again with a look of sharp indignation.

She tries to hide a smile behind her hand. “The lady doth protest too much.”

“I didn’t say a single thing,” he mutters, laughter sharp and short. “I’m not about to put myself in that position –“

“Oh? Which position might that be?” Rita titters, lighter than air.

Rafael allows his head to fall back against the couch as he groans. “You’re obscene.”

She rests his hand over Rafael’s on the couch between them, patting lightly. “Alright, alright. What do you need to know?”

“Everything. I know nothing beyond the stereotype and what I’ve gleaned from working with the few that end up vics or perps.”

Her expression tightens, lips pursed. “You really need to get out more.”

That shocks a laugh out of him, but he quickly stops it. “Believe it or not, I have no desire to go wherever it is the dregs of inhumanity intermingle.”

She clicks her tongue. “Oh, Rafa....” Leaning back so her head is tilted back just as his is, their eyes meeting. “First and foremost, you need to set those assumptions aside. They’re no more wretched than our kind.”

Rafael closes his eyes. “That’s not as reassuring as you seem to think.”


	5. Damage (NK1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s wrong? Worried about me?”
> 
> “Always,” she answers with more ease in her voice than its held all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some warnings listed at the end notes, for those of you who may need them.

Pain relief is one of those things that some people think has been solved, but it really hasn’t been.

Derek Lowe, _The Painful History of Substance P_

It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves?

Donna Tartt, _The Secret History_

 

Olivia takes care of herself. She has a child to look after, and the weight of the world on her shoulders, so that care is never quite what she needs to feel well-rested or to finally unwind the knot in her right shoulder that plagues her, but it is enough for her to smell sweet and for her blood to taste even sweeter. She even drinks chamomile tea for Rafael, to make it more pleasant still, and the result is honeyed blood as sweet as something can taste to a creature like Rafael.

Sitting in her living room, tucked next to her on the couch, he keeps his touch gentle as he prods the vein in the delicate curve of her arm. Beneath the skin, the softest purple can be seen, and it’s there he places the point of the needle in his hand, simply touching it for a moment as he rubs his thumb over the skin just below the point of contact. Olivia sighs, letting the tension slip from her body and closing her eyes. He presses the needle through her flesh, and draws out the blood he needs.

He takes the bare minimum, just as he always does. He’s not a vampire, thus he doesn’t have to eat like a vampire: He doesn’t have to drink three liters of blood a day, practically draining a human a day; or press his body close to that of his meal while doing it, feeding both physically and psychically for such long periods of time. Instead, all he needs is to take a pint a week, if that, and there’s no need for physical contact while he does.

That’s all he needs.

When the syringe is full, he presses a swab over the point where metal enters skin before gently removing it. Olivia takes it from him, fingertips brushing against his own, and for a minute he feels dizzy at the contact. Being this close to her makes him practically sleepy he’s so comfortable, a result of the connection feeding brings. Keeping the swab against the small wound, he gently applies a band aid over it.

With a ghost of a smile, Olivia hands the syringe back to him. Swallowing, he turns his back to her, even after all this time, and carelessly slips the needle between his lips before releasing the liquid there. He tries to savor it, but he’s hungry – hungrier than he’s felt in years despite no changes in his diet, and he practically gobbles it down.

Olivia’s hand finds his shoulder, squeezing gently, then shifting to the side to rub circles over his spine. “It’s still hard to believe that’s all you need. You can take more, if you need to.”

Withdrawing the needle, Rafael turns back to her once more, lips quirked. “I do get blood from a bank. A human blood bank,” he corrects quickly, mind immediately going to the vampire “banks” in which donating functions very differently. Olivia’s brows furrow, and he shakes his head, telling her she doesn’t want to know. “Anyway, thank you.”

“It’s no trouble, Rafa. Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” she persists, her voice more level than usual, purposefully casual.

He pulls his bag closer on the carpet at their feet, taking a plastic bag from a side pocket to place the needle within; he’ll discard it somewhere safe later. “What’s wrong? Worried about me?”

“Always,” she answers with more ease in her voice than its held all day. “I’ve been thinking.”

Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his heart seems to grow in his chest, beating harder and heavier. “About?”

Taking a breath, he shifts closer, folding her hands on her knees. “Carisi.”

Rafael drags his tongue over the back of his teeth, eyes sliding away from Liv’s sharp gaze to the window. He carefully tucks the needle into his bag. “What about him?”

“Rafael,” she murmurs, chastising so gently he feels truly shamed. “Listen, I… I need to know.”

He considers it. It would be so simple, telling her everything. He’d feel better doing it. She’s the closest thing to a friend he really has, even considering Rita, and this is hardly something he can talk to his human mother about. His eyes fall shut on their own, the lids suddenly heavy as if he’s truly exhausted.

It would be safer for Olivia and everyone else involved if Rafael weren’t the only one aware of Sonny’s nature as a demon, and if Rafael were to share what weaknesses he knows incubi to possess, yet he can’t bring himself to say it. It’s not his place to reveal Sonny; he may have thought differently at first, but after being close enough to see the good within him, he’s changed his mind. He’s too damn good to betray, and perhaps that makes Rafael a fool.

Laughing breathlessly, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Meeting Olivia’s gaze is an impossible task in that moment, and so he continues to stubbornly avoid it. Her sigh is soft, her touch at the back of his neck even softer. _I’m here for you_ , hangs in the air, unspoken; even in such a state, the sentiment has his eyes burning.

“It won’t affect our professional relationship, don’t worry,” he mutters, sardonic. It’s a lie.

 

* * *

 

 

Following their talk, Carisi avoids him like the plague. When Rafael is around, Carisi makes excuses to leave the room or focus on a task separate from whatever Barba is there to do, his head ducked and his eyes flickering about. He no longer finds ways to come to Rafael’s office or work with him in general, nor does he ask for advice on his school work or prattle on about law, his lips pressed tight. Rafael’s life has grown significantly quieter. Every night he spends alone in his office, hunched over his desk, surrounded by the silence, he curses himself for denying himself just what he desires.

The next day, when he sees the wicked curl of Buchanan’s lips or the quaking form of another incubus or succubus in the precinct, he knows it’s the proper thing to do.

And so they continue, tiptoeing around each other as carefully as possible, until Olivia takes Rafael by the elbow and hauls him into her office. Her face is pinched, and her eyes hard. He knows what’s going on as soon as her fingers close around his arm. He’s not been feeling well, and he feels even worse when she touches him, like his head is underwater. Instead of pulling away, he lets himself be discretely forced into her office, but only because he has no other choice when feeling so weak.

As soon as the door opens, he smells Carisi, and closes his eyes, the dizziness worsening. Olivia makes a quiet, confused noise, but doesn’t falter under the added weight of Rafael’s body. “Rafael?”

The door closes, but it’s not Olivia’s doing. Both of her hands are on his shoulders now, warm and heavy. She turns him around to face her, her lips parted and eyes searching. She squeezes his shoulders and thumbs at his collarbones. He tries to reassure her, but he finds himself unable to speak.

Eyes widening, her grip loosens. “Do you need…?”

“Blood?”

Rafael literally jumps beneath Olivia’s hands, his briefcase slipping from his fingertips to thump against the floor. Olivia’s eyebrows arch impossibly high.

“Uh,” Carisi says from the door, then steps forward to pick up Rafael’s bag, holding it out to him awkwardly. “I, uh, shit.”

“It’s… okay,” Olivia says slowly, taking the briefcase herself. “I know about that.”

“Oh!” Carisi’s voice nearly cracks like a child’s. “Alright, yeah, because – I mean – I can smell, uh, you.”

Now her brows knit, and Barba finds himself staring at Carisi with his own expression closing.

Carisi goes pink around the ears, scratching the back of his head. “That he drinks your blood. I can smell you – on him. That’s – That’s what I mean.”

Olivia nods, mouth tight. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Carisi repeats, his expression slowly shifting into terror.

“Dear god,” Rafael mutters, then begins to tip over, his knees weak to the point of being useless.

The next few moments are simply not there. When the fog from his mind clears once more, Carisi is easing him into a chair and Olivia is opening his suitcase to get out the supplies he keeps hidden there. Carisi’s big, blue eyes are hovering in front of him, and Rafael finds himself breathing in his scent, feeling nauseous. His blood must be so sweet.

“Rafael,” Carisi says, his voice low, and his breath warm. “You alright? Is there someone you need us to call?”

“I’ll go ahead and feed him,” Olivia interjects. “Can you help me with this?”

Frowning, Carisi takes the syringe she holds out between thumb and forefinger. “Uh, I’ve never done this, but….”

Olivia pauses. “You’re not?”

“I’m – not what?” Carisi turns to look down at Rafael, whose head is still spinning and his mouth dry, seemingly already distracted from the question. “I figured he’d just, uh, bite or something.”

“I thought you were a vampire or something,” Olivia confesses, an unreadable expression on her face. Rafael’s not sure how he gave her that impression, but in hindsight it makes the most sense, if one considers how little Olivia knows.

Carisi watches her turn the other seat in front of her desk around then plant herself in it, leaning across the space between herself and Rafael to touch his knee. Rafael jerks, shocked by the contact, and the worsening of his headache. Olivia removes her hand without question.

Carisi coughs. “Uh, ‘or something’ is… yeah.”

Olivia glances back at him, already rolling up her sleeve and removing the band aid from before. “Alright. Come here,” she orders, motioning to her side with one hand while offering up the other. “I’ll try to do it myself first, but I might need your help.”

Carisi passes back the syringe, and Olivia slowly eases it into her arm. She misses the first time, but the second she gets it; Rafael was expecting it to be worse. Carisi watches intently from over her shoulder, looking not unlike a child. Olivia struggles for a second, attempting to extract her blood, and Carisi steps closer, taking it from her hand to slowly withdraw her blood.

“How much?”

“Fill it.”

And so he does.

“Alright, get a band aid from –“ Olivia cuts herself off as Carisi gently slips his fingers from the syringe to allow her to take it herself. Hurrying over to the desk, he fumbles to pick out a band aid, then nearly hops back to apply it to Olivia’s skin as she removes the needle.

She holds it out, brows quirked, and Rafael reaches out numbly to take it. His hands feel strange, and brushing Olivia’s skin only makes them tingle worse. His grip tightens only for Carisi’s fingers to suddenly close around his own.

“You’re shaking,” he says, voice lilting with his surprise. Slipping away, Carisi takes the full syringe in hand, stealing it from both of them, and shuffles over to Rafael. “How do I…? Do I, uh, put it in your arm or-“

“God, no,” Rafael murmurs, reaching out to guide the syringe to his mouth. Touching Carisi’s skin causes the same jolt of dizziness as before, and Rafael finds his stomach swooping, but he doesn’t stop. He closes his lips around the syringe, pressing his tongue carefully around the metal to avoid being pricked. Carisi’s eyes look like saucers. Rafael presses on the back of the syringe, emptying the contents into his mouth and eagerly swallowing it down.

The lightheadedness should fade, but instead he finds himself all the dizzier. Groaning when it’s been emptied, he tips his head back, scowling.

“What’s wrong?”

“Rafa? Do you need more?”

Rafael doesn’t know. He just fed yesterday, and he’s never felt like this from simple hunger.

“Oh,” Carisi says, almost amused. Rafael jumps when he feels a hand in his hair. Carisi is gentle, carding his fingers through Rafael’s bangs as if this is the normal thing to do. Rafael wants to object, but the pain recedes with the act, and he finds himself dozing. “That’s all he needs,” he says, his voice distant.

Rafael loses track of time once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Blood is consumed in this chapter
> 
> Thank you all for your kind responses!


	6. REM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If anyone should be scared, it should be you of me. I’m the one who could kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter I've been waiting to write since I started this damn thing, honestly.

You can coax the cold right out of me  
Drape me in your warmth  
The rapture in the dark puts me at ease  
The blind eye of the storm

 _BITE_ by Troye Sivan

 

Waking comes with an ache between his eyes and in the twist of his neck. Carisi’s hand is gone from his hair, but he’s still in the same spot, awkwardly tucked in the chair in front of Olivia’s desk, where Olivia is sitting, glasses sliding down her nose as her pen scrapes over paper. Blinking owlishly, he sits up, peering around the room to find Carisi is gone. He pulls his sleeve up, and breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes only an hour has passed.

“I wasn’t going to let you sleep there forever, don’t worry,” Olivia chuckles, setting her pen aside. Her expression quickly goes hard, that softness fading into something sharp. “Do you need,” she pauses, fumbling for the right words, “blood or something?”

His eyes feel strained, the sensation of blinking dry and achy. Lips pursed in that disapproving way only Olivia and his mother seem to be able to truly pull off, Olivia stares him down until he scoffs and looks away. “I’m fine. I’m just not feeling well.”

For a few terrible moments, she’s quiet, and the air is heavy with some tension Barba can’t name. She clears her throat as if preparing to speak, but stays quiet as Rafael stands and stretches, turning his head this way and that, testing the ache. It’s when he tugs at his vest that she finally does say what she’s been meaning to, clearing her throat once more, before awkwardly informing him, “Carisi said you haven’t been getting what you need.”

Brow furrowed, Rafael turns to face her, studying her expression for some sign of amusement, but she’s completely and utterly serious. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lips pressed firmly together, Olivia looks down at the papers in front of her. “If you need something, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get it. You know that, don’t you?”

Wetting his lips, Rafael tilts his head back to glare at the ceiling. “Olivia, I don’t need anything. Carisi doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He drags his fingers through his hair, horrified to realize just how much Carisi must have been touching him, even after he fell asleep. “He’s not a vampire,” he adds, more bitter now than before.

“Rafa….”

“I’m fine,” he insists, reaching out to grab his suitcase from the corner of her desk. With that, he sweeps out of the room without making eye contact again.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Rafael a moment to realize he’s awake. He’s in his room, still in bed, body weighted with the remnants of sleep and still-stirring dreams of Rita’s mouth against the delicate curve of Olivia’s inner arm, laughter spilling forth rather than blood. The curtains are drawn to block out the light of the city, but his clock casts the room in a red glow on its own and the buzz of cars and people can still be heard, a dull din even at this hour; he can sense the lateness, and yet he struggles to read the numbers on his clock, squinting at the light in a weak attempt to decipher what he’s seeing, but no matter how long he stares, the four zeros don’t morph into any clear numbers. Pinpointing what woke him or appears to be impossible while he’s still dazed, everything lethargic and slow inside and out, unable to even read the damn clock.

A deep breath has his chest pressing upwards against something weighted. He twists his head to the side, and there, next to him, is Sonny Carisi, and glancing down confirms that it’s Sonny’s hand curled around the fabric of his pajama shirt. Carisi’s wearing his suit, curled up on the other side of his bed like he’s meant to be here, though how he’s sprawled over the covers makes him look more awkward than anything else. Still feeling dazed, Rafael takes in the little curl of his lips, almost apologetic, and the messy knot of his tie without responding, unable to process this all at once.

“You’re in my bed,” Rafael croaks, blinking, because he must be an illusion or – _a dream_. “Oh.”

“You alright?” Carisi’s hand is gentle, rubbing over his chest in little circles; it makes him all too aware of his heartbeat. Rafael takes a shuddering breath, pressing upwards against the touch without thought. “Barba, tell me right now if you want me to get out of here.”

It takes him a moment, but Rafael sighs and shakes his head. “Why are you here? I thought I told you –“

“You need to be feeding properly – you know that right?” he asks rather than answering, voice low and sweet. He’s sweet. He smells sweet.

Judging by the look on Carisi’s face, he said that out loud.

“Yeah?” Carisi murmurs, and shifts closer in bed – wriggling like a fool. “I do, don’t I? I smell good.”

Rafael hums in agreement, rolling onto his side so their noses brush and he’s free to breathe in Carisi’s scent over and over, letting it settle on his tongue. Carisi’s eyes are wide and bright, even in the dim light, and his breathing is shallow. He’s beautiful. Barba thinks he might let that slip, too, because Carisi’s face is darkening and his eyes are on Rafael’s lips.

“I can’t give you blood – I mean, yeah, I could, but – uh, that-that wouldn’t – anyway, that’s not what you need, right?” Carisi asks, his voice growing softer even as he flounders. His hand finds Rafael’s cheek, fingers soft against his skin – gentle. “You…. Rafael, you know you’re allowed to feed like this, right? You can feed from me – I don’t mind. I’ll do the same, if it makes you feel better. I mean, that might – that might be weird. I don’t have to, uh, do that if that makes you feel bad.”

Mind fuzzy with the pretty scent in the air and the haze of the dream, Rafael slowly shakes his head again, swallowing around the words jumbling at the back of his throat. “I can’t drink from – I can’t drink from you.”

Carisi’s fingers find his hair, carding through it. He’s so gentle. Rafael turns his head, pressing his nose to Sonny’s wrist and taking a deep, deep breath. Carisi laughs breathlessly. “I’m not talking about blood.” His fingers curl, drawing a strand of hair around them. “Rafael, you know about psychic feeding, don’t you? That’s something you need, even if you’re, uh, only half vampire. Or whatever you… are, exactly. I’m honestly not sure.” His laugh is strained in the most precious of ways.

Rafael might say that aloud, too.

“My father was a vampire,” he says before Carisi can say anything in response. “My mother is human.”

Carisi’s smile is somber. “Yeah?” His fingers trace the line of Rafael’s jaw. “That’s why you don’t quite smell like them, huh? Vampires, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Rafael breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he leans closer. “I’m not a vampire – not a demon. I don’t have to feed on blood. Not as much,” he amends. “And I don’t need to feed on….” He falters, unsure of the word for whatever it is.

Carisi licks his lips, hand cupping Rafael’s cheek firmer. “Rafael, part human or not, you gotta feed on more than just blood. You know that, right? Or not,” he mutters, when Rafael stubbornly shakes his head, turning to mouth against Sonny’s wrist.

Rafael groans, shuddering, as he drags his lips along the soft skin there. Sonny goes very still, breath hitching, but doesn’t draw away. He smells intensely good, that juniper that hangs around Sonny like a cloud is less intense here and now, but the penny-nickel tang is all the stronger, especially at this point, with his blood so near. A terrible, weak noise escapes the clutch of Rafael’s throat, and his lips part in a wet kiss.

“You- I can’t give you my blood,” Sonny insists, with a tinge of panic, and yet he doesn’t pull away.

Rafael doesn’t need or want his blood, though – he’s being driven to seek something else, something he can’t name. He drags his tongue over Sonny’s wrist, tasting his sweat and feeling his warmth.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sonny grits between clenched teeth, and his free hand slips between Rafael and the bed to close around the curve of his hip. He still doesn’t pull away. “You need to feed but – Rafael, not on blood. If you drink my blood, it-it won’t be good for either of us, okay?”

There’s a buzz between his ears, building with the thrum of his own blood and heart. It’s so close, yet so far, and he doesn’t now how to reach it – doesn’t know what it is he needs. He draws away with a gasp, and flushes all over when he realizes his teeth are out – are visible. He clasps a hand over his mouth, and closes his eyes, stewing in his humiliation.

Sonny’s hand doesn’t move from his cheek, and his other stays at his hip. “Do you…. Have you never fed on, uh, energy?” His thumb brushes over Rafael’s cheekbone. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s really okay. Come here,” he murmurs, pulling him closer. Rafael shudders, a response to the closeness and the heat that’s radiating from him, even through the sheets. “It’s okay, I promise it’s okay. You just have to relax, okay? Just let yourself breathe.”

Rafael does let himself breathe – he’s been letting himself breathe this whole time, and he almost tells Carisi as much, but then Carisi is tucking his face against the delicate skin at Carisi’s throat, his hand brushing Rafael’s spine. He melts into the embrace, shaking all over as he’s surrounded by Sonny’s scent and warmth, his mouth pressed against Carisi’s throat – right next to all that blood and –

“You can feel it, if you let yourself,” Carisi tells him gently. “Everyone lets off – like, energy. And you can taste it, if you let yourself. Just… let yourself, alright? Open yourself up to it. You’re always closed – I can, uh, feel it,” he informs Rafael in a rush, hand moving all over Rafael’s back like he can’t settle on one place to touch. “It’s like… a mental thing. Like a door you open, and once it’s open that-that hunger will go away. You’ll feel so much better.”

Rafael lets his lips linger against Sonny’s skin for a moment longer, basking in the sensation of being held after so long going without any contact like this. When was the last time someone did something like this for him? The last time he was hugged? The last time he fed directly from another person? He pulls away, only an inch or so because he can’t bring himself to create anymore distance than what’s strictly necessary, despite how stifling he feels pressed up against another body.

“You can feed like this?” he croaks, body suddenly wracked with tremors, and teeth aching.

Sonny shushes him, hand settling around the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “Yeah, yeah I can. We, uh, don’t just feed on… sexual, um, energy, but really any feelings of pleasure. I-I could, theoretically… feed on, well, this.”

“’This?’” Rafael echoes, and only now realizes he’s clutching Sonny’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I could feed on the, uh, the feelings you’re getting from being… close to someone. Even though it’s obviously not sexual,” he tacks on, swallowing so Rafael can feel it against his fingertips which are creeping closer to his throat on instinct. “It doesn’t hurt. You can just… open yourself, okay? You won’t hurt me. You have my permission.”

Rafael swallows, watching his fingertips brush over Carisi’s Adam’s apple. “But vampires don’t feed on… feelings.”

Carisi swallows again; it’s pretty. “No, um, it’s like…. We all have… energy, in everything we do, yeah? And everything we do and feel it… it lets off energy, sort of. You can feed on that. Or the energy inside them, but, uh, that can be a little more difficult for the person. It’s better to just snatch up what they’re letting off.” His tongue slips over his lips. “It’s okay if you mess up and, um, feed on what’s in me and not what’s just – around me. I’m not like a human – like, uh, Olivia– so you can just take what you need and I can replace it real easy. That’s why I thought… I might be the best option, for you. I didn’t mean to presume, but…. Yeah.”

Carisi’s fingers brush through the hair at the back of his neck, and he shudders, tugging Carisi closer. Carisi makes a soft noise, nosing against his hair as Rafael presses his face against Carisi’s throat, trying to stifle the shivers. He thinks about how gently Carisi had touched him in Olivia’s office, and how cautious he had been when feeding him.

“Why do you care?” he mutters, sounding bitter.

A huff of a laugh escapes Carisi’s lips, and Carisi pets his hair, then his shoulders. Rafael stiffens up when Carisi gently prods him away, so their eyes can meet. Carisi’s face looks gaunt in the dark, and his pupils unnaturally large. “I’m not about to let you starve. And, I’ve been thinking about it – about what you said, the other day. About ‘no contact’ or whatever, and staying away from Buchanan. I know why you said it, but I don’t need you to protect me or something, okay? I’ve been around vampires plenty. And I know about Buchanan from Carmen.”

Rafael blinks at him, fingers tightening in Sonny’s shirt. “You’re an idiot.”

Carisi laughs brightly, his smile stretching wide. “Yeah, I know. But you’re not much better.”

Despite himself, he finds a smile curling his lips. “I suppose you’re right.”

Smile softening, Carisi cradles the back of his head, nails dragging against his skin lightly until he shivers. “It’s okay to let me get close. It’s okay to open that door. I can help open it, but I’m not always going to be around to help, so you should try on your own, okay? Can you try?”

Rafael tries to speak, but his voice fails him; swallowing, he nods.

Carisi presses closer again, his forehead touching Rafael’s. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, and Rafael does. “You can feel me – focus on that. My skin and my hands and-and my breath,” he continues, his voice growing softer and softer. Rafael takes a shuddering breath, his skin tingling all over. “That’s right – You’re doing good. Now, all you have to do is… let me in.”

Rafael takes another breath, feeling Carisi all around him – feeling the tingling of his skin. It’s like something unlocks within him. Keening pathetically, Rafael digs his fingers into Sonny’s shoulders and lurches closer, his lips finding Sonny’s cheek as he shivers and shakes beneath the onslaught. What was physical is suddenly so much more – so much deeper. Rafael can taste him on his tongue, bright and warm like sunlight seeping into his skin, and burning everything it touches in the sweetest way. He feels it in his bones, in his heart.

He’s not drinking, obviously, and yet he finds himself swallowing compulsively, his teeth pressed against Sonny’s skin but not once piercing it. Through the haze, he recognizes this may be the first time he’s witnessed another being not react to vampire fangs being bared, and it’s certainly the only time he’s seen any being not shy away from the brush of them against skin. Carisi has more balls than expected.

Sonny’s around him and within him, and beyond that Rafael can suddenly sense so much more – the press and fog of energy throughout the building – throughout the city. Moaning, he wraps an arm around Sonny’s neck, pressing their cheeks together. He wants to get closer – to bury himself further in Sonny, his scent, and this sunlight that seems to be radiating from him.

All the while, Sonny strokes his hair and pets his back, whispering, “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. Take whatever you need – it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re doing good.”

Rafael nearly sobs. With this, he’s suddenly aware of a yawning emptiness in the pit of him, one that’s being steadily filled. He’s been in pieces all this time without realizing it, and yet he’s being gently put back together, all by Sonny.

“Touch me,” he demands, voice fragile and shattered. “Please.”

Carisi is quick to obey, hands finding bare skin as if he knows it’s this contact he needs innately. “That’s good, right? You can tell me if it’s not.” As he says it, he firmly presses one hand against his side, only this time beneath his shirt, that skin like a brand. The other is at the small of his back, searing. “Just tell me, and I’ll stop. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Would it be too much,” Rafael breathes, hesitant for the first time in a very long time, “to ask you to sleep here? Just – Just sleep, nothing more.”

Carisi makes a soft, honeyed noise, and gently extracts himself from Rafael’s hold. “Just let me get out of my jacket, alright?”

“Alright.”

As soon as the contact is gone, so is the rush of energy. It’s unclear if it’s because Carisi is the one who “opened the door,” so without Carisi the stream is gone, or if the physical contact must be maintained to feed; it seems to be the latter, considering Rafael can still feel it all, just out of reach. The energy hangs around Sonny, an aura that Rafael struggles to see beyond little glints of something he catches out of the corner of his eyes, but can sense in other ways.

Sonny slides off the bed, and slips out of his jacket, tossing it across the back of a chair in the corner of the room, then toes off his shoes and removes his belt. Rafael drags his tongue over his lips, watching intently as Sonny’s fingers play over the buttons of his shirt.

“You wouldn’t mind, would you?” he asks, glancing at Rafael over his shoulder. “If I took this off? I have an undershirt on. If it would be weird –“

“Take it off.”

And he does.

With that, he returns to the bed, lifting the sheets to slip in bed next to him. Rafael immediately shifts closer, eager to make contact again, but he stops himself, considering just what he’s doing. Sonny pauses in his shifting and adjusting, too, eyes flitting over his face. “What’s wrong? It’s okay if you change your mind.”

“It’s not that,” Rafael says, firm. “Are you okay with this?”

Carisi jerks back, blinking at Rafael as if stunned. “I wouldn’t be here if I minded – you don’t need to worry about that. I just – I don’t want, uh, to scare you.”

Rafael frowns. “If anyone should be scared, it should be you of me. I’m the one who could kill you.”

Carisi scoffs, lips tilting into a lopsided smirk. “Nah….” For a moment, his expression remains pinned in place, only to fall away in the blink of the eye; with it gone, Sonny’s brows knit, and his lips purse. “You do know what I am, right?”

Rafael rolls his eyes. “This isn’t a pissing contest.”

“No, no – I just mean, I – You’re not afraid?” he asks, voice small. “That I’ll rape you or –“

Rafael laughs, the sound much bigger and more derisive than he intended it to be, but he’s not ashamed. “You’re too damn good to hurt anyone.” He breathes out, amusement fading, and finds Sonny staring at him dumbly. He raises a brow. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me.”

“No! No, I just – Thank you.”

Taking in those endless eyes and the softness around his mouth, Rafael realizes the weight this part of their reality places on Sonny’s shoulders. Before he can stop himself, he reaches out to touch the skin just beneath Sonny’s eye, watching as both flutter close, and his lips part. “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt you?”

“It doesn’t hurt a bit,” Sonny assures him, hand settling over his own. “Come on, you need to sleep. How do you wanna, uh, get?”

They end up in much the same position as before, now with Sonny’s arms curled around Rafael’s waist, shirt rucked up so their skin is touching, and one of Rafael’s arms tucked between them, the other slung around his waist. Rafael’s face is once again pressed against the crook of Sonny’s neck so he’s free to breathe in his light and scent, even as he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes, he’s unsurprised to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Your comments, kudos, and the like all bring me a lot of joy!


	7. Norepinephrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So I owe you one now?”
> 
> Brow furrowing, Carisi shakes his head emphatically. “It’s not like that.”
> 
> “No? Then what’s it like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some sexual harassment in this chapter, just a warning.

I suppose the shock of recognition is one of the nastiest shocks of all.

Donna Tart, _The Secret History_

 

Rafael stays in bed for far longer than he should, the warmth remaining from the night before heavy in his chest and weighing down his limbs, keeping him pinned to the mattress. He feels different, as if something has changed not only between himself and the world around him but _within_ him, in each breath and in each fluttering, fleeting thought. With the appearance of this indescribable feeling comes a recognition of what had been present in its absence: emptiness. With it gone, he feels sleepy and sated, even after a long night of rest, as if what was pushing him out of bed each morning was that hunger and nothing more.

Despite the satisfaction and the overwhelming urge to succumb to sleep, he rolls over, eyes focused on the empty side of the bed. Something cracks open in his chest. It was a dream, yes, but demons can manifest in various ways, and incubi specialize in the formation of dreams and fantasies, which makes sense considering their nature of desire and temptation. Slipping into one’s mind to find their greatest desire, then feed on it, is only natural for such a creature.

When Rafael was very young, and his father still came around upon occasion, he would appear to Rafael in much the same way. The dreams he would construct would be a kaleidoscope of ink and night, foggy and unclear; the years since he last experienced them have corrupted the memories further, shifting them into glassy and shattered snatches of images. He can only remember brief moments of their encounters: a rough hand in his hair, the smell of iron, _hijo, no tengas miedo_. His hands, when they fell on Rafael’s shoulders, felt like the equivalent of the weight of the world. A closed fist against his middle.

Even memories of his father, all ice and a lashing tongue, aren’t enough to dull his pleasure. But how he reached this point is another matter entirely. Carisi slipped into his dreams even after Rafael told him quite specifically there should be no contact between them outside of work, and yet here they are, with Carisi breathing life into him and Rafael too weak a man to deny himself. Groaning, he drags the sheets up his chest as if he can somehow hide what he’s done. It’s impossible to forget or hide from himself, with the energy fed to him stirring in his chest like starlight.

He kicks the sheets away and climbs out of bed.

 

* * *

 

Sonny is at his desk, nursing cold coffee and looking near miserable. He doesn’t look up when Rafael draws near, nor does he respond when Rafael drops a folder next to him on his desk. None of the gentle smiles from last night or the empathic gazes greet him, just bleary eyes stubbornly focused on the screen of his laptop.

As Rafael lingers, the tension in Sonny’s shoulders mounts. Something ugly curls in Rafael’s chest, intense and unyielding, and proceeds to wrap around his heart like briars.

When he woke up this morning, he hadn’t thought it odd to find no trace of Sonny’s presence in the room despite what happened the night before, as it was an intangible meeting of minds, not a physical one. But now, looking at Sonny and the blue of his eyes and smelling the sweetness of him tainted by stress, he realizes it was all a dream – a natural dream rather than one brought on by the hand of an incubus. His mind, stressed and morbid as it is, concocted up the whole thing himself – including the warmth still clinging to his ribs.

Being what he is, of course he doesn’t have to feed psychically – only physically. He doesn’t need to be touched or held gently. He doesn’t need to be coddled. The feeling isn’t from a midnight meeting with Carisi, it’s from the syringe of extra blood he’s so unused to receiving.

Burning with shame and rage – at himself for being so deluded – Rafael turns his back on Sonny and stalks away.

It’s for the best, after all – not just for Carisi, but for Rafael too. With distance, the possibility of such dreams will lessen, and his self-control will return to normal.

He feels sick with himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Buchanan corners him in the bathroom, leaned up against the door so Rafael can’t escape their confrontation. The leer on his face tells him this is going to either be about Carmen, Sonny, or the sweet smell of the latest vic Rafael just finished defending. He’s not in the mood for any of it.

“Come to revel in your win?” Rafael mutters, pointedly lifting his wrist to look at his watch. “I’m afraid I have better things to do than stand around amusing you.”

“You smell like him,” Buchanan says, as if that makes perfect sense in the context of their current conversation.

Rafael cuts his eyes at him, lips pursed. “I have somewhere to be.” He pushes past Buchanan, and out the door. The smell of iron is heavy on his being, but he doubts any human would notice; if they could, they would stay far away.

Buchanan, much to his consternation, follows. “How was he?” he continues, voice so low Rafael must strain to hear him.

“Upset that his rapist got away with the crime. What? Did you think he’d be overjoyed?” Rafael growls, fingers curling around the handle of his suitcase until his nails are biting his palms.

Laughter poorly constructed, Buchanan doesn’t try to hide the game he’s playing. “No, no – the incubus!”

Rafael picks up his pace. The front of the building is in sight.

“Don’t bother pretending. I can smell him all over you,” he hisses, voice dark with glee. “So, how was he? Everything they say it is?”

Straining, Rafael does his best to suppress the tremors of anger that shake down his arms, but it’s little use. He thinks of the dream, and of Sonny’s thumbs playing along his hipbones; it was two nights ago now, yet it could have been just this morning as fresh as the memories are. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It smells like you fucked him all night, then drank all the blood he had in him! I know you were with him – that you fed on him enough to be practically _dripping_ in his scent. Why hide it?”

Rafael’s head feels light; he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. The doors are right there.

The noise that escapes Buchanan’s teeth is wholly mocking and sharp. “You’re acting like a child.”

An ache is forming in his teeth, but he can’t tell if it’s from gritting them so fiercely or the forewarning of their growth. “I’m leaving,” he insists, as if it’s not clear by the beeline he’s making. “Don’t follow.”

He scoffs. “What’s your problem? It’s not really a personal question – if it was a personal matter, you wouldn’t traipse around here _smelling_ like that. And with a _coworker_ ,” he taunts.

Rafael breathes out through his teeth until it’s a hiss of a noise. “I’m leaving,” he reiterates, needlessly. The doors are there, just before him, and yet it feels like another illusion – another delusion. Stepping outside, a weight is lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe in deep through his nose.

“Are you so insecure in your identity that you can’t even admit to ownership of the beast?”

Rafael rounds on him, his teeth already elongating to the point that they’re pricking the inside of his lips, the taste of iron filling his mouth. Buchanan’s eyes are bright, and there’s the fluttering of lights and the rush of the press from behind, but all Barba can focus on is Carisi – Carisi who has appeared out of nowhere behind Buchanan’s shoulder, his expression tight. Buchanan senses him just a beat later, awkwardly turning to meet Carisi’s eyes.

“ _Oh_ , detective,” he murmurs, his lips twitching. “Speak of the devil, I suppose.”

Carisi’s expression darkens, but before he can speak, someone finally calls out to Buchanan, and then to Barba. Buchanan’s lips quirk, waving to the press, but he takes a moment to look back to Carisi, saying lowly, “Always nice seeing you, pretty thing.”

Barba stiffens as Buchanan passes, his gaze focused somewhere over Carisi’s shoulder, unwavering even as Carisi steps closer. “Do you need to talk to them?” Carisi asks, his voice as low and gentle as it was in Rafael’s dream. “The media, I mean.”

“Yes,” Rafael grouses, and follows Buchanan down the stairs.

He’s not surprised to find Sonny waiting for him on the sidewalk when he finally pushes past the many reporters and camera-people. There hasn’t been a moment to process Buchanan’s words, and at this point Rafael is loath to consider what it means. To be surrounded by Carisi’s scent, so rich and lovely, would suggest that perhaps that dream was not merely a dream after all, and that Rafael _had_ glutted himself on his energy.

Rafael can’t meet Carisi’s eyes.

“Hey,” Carisi greets, hands in his pockets and shoulders soft. “You alright?”

Rafael grunts in answer, striding past him. Carisi, like the fool he is, follows.

Before Rafael can even reach the crosswalk, Buchanan is calling out to him once more. He tenses all over, heaving out a breath. Despite the many alarms going off in his mind, he grits his teeth, and turns to face him. Smug as hell, Buchanan beams, looking back and forth between them as if he can’t decide which to focus on further.

“So, detective,” he says, finally settling his gaze on Carisi. “How many of us could you manage to feed, do you think?”

Iron rushes over his tongue as Rafael’s own teeth dig into his lips. His focus narrows, everything sharp around the edges. Before he knows what’s happened, he’s lurched forward, but Carisi’s hand locks around his wrist. He’s so goddamn gentle, yet he easily guides Rafael to his side with enough subtlety that it seems none of the press has taken notice beyond, perhaps, interest in Rafael’s murderous expression.

Without a word, Sonny shifts his hold to Rafael’s elbow, and then urges him to walk away. He doesn’t fight it. The trek to Rafael’s office is quiet. Sonny hangs by his back, like a shadow.

Sonny didn’t deny it. Rafael’s dream was real. He shudders all over upon the realization, his rage only mounting. Carisi slipped into his dreams – into his bed. Carisi held him close. Carisi spoke quietly, voice dripping with honey, and cooed sweet nothings to Rafael like a fucking lover might. Carisi sacrificed his energy to Rafael.

Rafael’s hands are trembling. When they reach his office building, there’s a moment where Barba waivers, his hand raised to the door, but unable to reach out, forcing Carisi to jolt forward, the fool fumbling messily with the handle. Rafael wishes it weren’t endearing.

Carisi steps back, holding the door open for him like the chivalrous bastard he is, and it takes everything in Rafael not to simply rush in. Instead, he turns to Carisi, forcing himself to meet his eyes. “I told you not to involve yourself with me outside of work.”

Carisi stares at him. “Uh-huh.”

“Don’t come in,” Rafael rasps, then slips away.

 

* * *

 

 

Barba is still prickling all over with anger, disgust, and the most wretched sense of possession he can't shake when Carisi bursts into his office, apparently lacking the common sense needed to realize he should be far away from here – to realize that _don’t come in_ and _don’t come around anymore_ aren’t invitations to come closer. Rafael takes a deep breath and listens closely, even as his gaze focuses on Carisi, standing tall just before the door of his office, and determines Carmen has already left the area, apparently smart enough to know she probably doesn’t want to be around for this. Carisi closes the door with much more care than he bothered with when opening it. His Adam’s apple bobs.

"What the hell do you want?" Barba snaps, yet it comes out breathless and lost because, in the end, there's a part of him truly shaken.

"I-" Carisi closes his mouth like he thinks better of answering. Barba waits, half expecting him to start whining like a cornered animal, but instead he lifts his chin in challenge. "I need you to tell me how to make this work. Because I'm not leaving."

His eyes are glassy and unfocused, his hands fisted by his sides. He looks like a child. His hands had been so large and sure against Rafael’s skin, though.

With one thought, the rage is draining from him; it was never Carisi he was angry with, in the first place. It leaves him feeling ancient and drained. “The dream?” he rasps.

“That –“ Carisi’s tongue darts over his lips; his scent is sour with nerves and sweat. “That was me. That was all real.”

Rafael’s expression must be crystal clear, because Carisi’s own contorts into something pained. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I should have asked for permission. I-I should have said something the next day. I just figured you wouldn’t… remember it as real. That you’d assume it was a dream, or be mad at me – I mean, not that I was avoiding it to get out of you being angry, just that-that I figured you’d be mad and not want to be around me while you cooled down. Or just not… want me to bring it up.”

Sighing, Rafael turns away from him, moving to sit at the table at the center of the room. “Fair enough.”

After a moment, Carisi moves to join him. “You do feel okay? I mean, it was enough?”

Throat dry, Barba inclines his head, struggling to find words. “The dream was real,” he repeats, “so I did feed on you?”

“Yeah. No blood, just psychic energy.”

Rafael watches Carisi fold his hands together, thumbing at his palms nervously. He slides his own hands through his hair, leaning back. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice thin. He’s afraid of the answer.

Carisi sits up a little straighter, eyes wide. “Nah, of course not.”

Rafael cuts his eyes at him, but finds that he’s being sincere. “So I owe you one now?”

Brow furrowing, Carisi shakes his head emphatically. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Then what’s it like?”

“Just what I said – you needed to be fed. I wasn’t about to let you starve,” he insists, voice high in a way that speaks to the insult of the insinuation. His jaw is set, and his eyes have a wet quality to them that hints at tears, though there are none there, thank God. He can’t seem to meet Rafael’s eyes, another small blessing, because Rafael doubts he could handle the contact. “I’m never going to expect you to return the favor. I’m never going to expect anything of you. That was never the point.”

When faced with such adamancy, Rafael finds his chest closing like a fist around his lungs and trapping his heart. He pushes away from the table, intending to stand and create space between them, but Sonny reaches out and curls his fingers around Rafael’s wrist before he can get any further away. The touch knocks the breath right out of him, and the sensations from the other night return in a rush. The veil is lifted, and he can sense the energy all around them – clinging to Carisi and the many others milling about in the building.

Carisi drags his thumb over the top of Rafael’s wrist, so terribly gentle that Rafael finds himself shuddering all over. “Carisi,” he croaks, knuckles brushing the underside of his wrist in return.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sonny drops his hand and closes his own in a fist, blinking owlishly at the skin he was once touching. “Shit, I’m sorry. I-I….” His face grows pallid, and his throat works fitfully. “I’m so sorry.”

Barba’s brow furrows, and his tongue darts over his lips awkwardly. “It suddenly – I could suddenly sense it again,” he explains. “The energy. It just – surprised me. I’m sorry.”

Sonny’s fist softens against the table between them. “Oh….”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rafael says, on instinct.

Sonny’s shoulders melt. The ghost of a smile plays along his lips as he slides his hand across the table, carefully turning it onto its back, offering his palm to Rafael. “I don’t want to ever make you feel like you’ve gotta do anything with me, but I’m willing. I mean, I’m willing to help you out the way Olivia does.” He scratches behind his ear, lips pursing in thought. “I don’t know if you and Olivia are just friends or, uh, romantically –“

“Friends,” Rafael says sharply. “It’s nothing inappropriate.”

Carisi’s eyes snap up to his, and he smiles, full and pretty. “Alright, sorry.”

Rafael shakes his head, and motions for him to continue.

“I can be a friend like Olivia, I guess.”

Carisi’s hand is still there, relaxed and waiting. Rafael finds it difficult to look away from. That’s the hand that had smoothed over his back, had cradled the back of his head, and had brushed his skin.

“Olivia and I don’t make physical contact,” he finds himself confessing before he can think through what he should say. “I’m… not sure if I could handle being….”

Fingers twitching slightly, Sonny audibly swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross the line like that. I should have – I should have known better – _Fuck_ , I do know better, it’s just –“

“Carisi, shut up,” Rafael sighs, and brushes his fingers over his palm. He hesitates for a moment, watching as Sonny’s fingers uncurl reflexively, then smoothly settles his hand in Carisi’s. This time, he manages to stifle his gasp upon contact, but he still takes a moment to breathe before speaking. “At the time, I figured you were truly there. If I had a problem with it, I would have stopped you.”

Eyes searching, Sonny carefully curls his fingers around Rafael’s, squeezing lightly. “Alright,” he mutters. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thankful for all of your comments! They make me feel so positive.


	8. Cortex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you doing this? I don’t have anything for you.”
> 
> Brow furrowing and mouth going tight, Sonny leans back, his eyes finally moving away from Rafael entirely. For a moment, they’re both quiet. Sonny’s fingers are still gentle against Rafael’s pulse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last episode wreaked havoc. My heart and home are in ruins. Take this fluffy shit to make up for it.

“Human behavior flows from three main sources: desire, emotion, and knowledge.”

Plato

 

They stay like that, hands gently intertwined. It’s intimate in a way Rafael wasn’t prepared for – could probably never be prepare for. Spending the night with Sonny, tucked so tightly against him and feeding from him all the while, was perhaps the most bizarrely intimate moment Rafael has ever experienced, at least up until now, and yet this manages to overshoot it entirely.

Sonny’s hand is warm. The pads of his fingers are rough from use, and his thumb catches slightly on Rafael’s knuckles as it strokes over them. Occasionally, he’ll squeeze; he’s always so gentle, the touch is barely there, like he’s just trying to check that Rafael hasn’t forgotten he’s here, with him. He’s close enough to smell – so sweet and pretty. Pretty and sweet. Rafael feels woozy, breathing him in and feeling his heat while Sonny’s blue, blue eyes rove over his face almost nervously, like he’s waiting for Rafael to grow tired of the contact.

Rafael should pull away. He doesn’t, however, instead looking at their folded hands and considering, for one mad moment, returning the small shows of affection. Sliding his own thumb over the barely-there scar on Sonny’s knuckles or tracing his fingers would be so simple. It aches, deep in his chest, the desire to be touched and to touch in return, and yet he can’t bring himself to.

Perhaps he’s a coward.

The weight of reality, the semi-public space they’ve found themselves in, and the baring of their own perceptions of the matter stifles his desires, yet somehow makes the act of reaching for them, even in such a small way – a touch of their hands – all the more electrifying. He wants to touch, and be touched, but every fear he holds has wrapped like a choke-chain about his throat, holding him in check, keeping him from pushing as far as he might, were he free.

“I can feel you trying,” Sonny murmurs, voice surprisingly low and honeyed. He’s blessedly tranquil and soft, like none of the anxiety clouding Rafael’s mind can touch him.

Rafael’s eyes flicker to Sonny’s face, meeting his gaze only to regret it. His eyes are so lovely and bright Rafael can hardly stand it. Logically, he knows Sonny’s appearance from his blue eyes to his long fingers is all the demon’s creation and manipulation of perception, but he finds himself responding to it anyway. His tongue darts across his lips, and Sonny’s twitch in response, maybe the hint of a smile.

Clearing his throat, Rafael glances down at their hands, then back to Sonny’s soft smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’re trying to open up,” Sonny explains. “You’re trying to, uh, feed. Psychically.”

Rafael swallows, eyes falling to their hands once more. They fit so well together. It hits him hard, just how nicely they do. His breath leaves him, his stomach clenches, and he feels unsteady in his own body, the only stability he can find is in the grip on his arm. It shakes him to his core. He holds on tighter.

“Hey,” Sonny breathes, shifting almost restlessly. Heart fluttering childishly, Rafael watches, frozen, as Sonny carefully maneuvers their hands, so he can take Rafael’s within both of his own without releasing him for a second.

His eyes are searching, and so damn bright. For the first time in a very long time, Rafael has a light, warm feeling building in his chest which could be equated with awe, or perhaps respect. He’s not sure what it is, at least not quite yet. In fact, he’s not sure he wants to name it, the dreadful thing which could burn him up at any moment.

Sonny’s tongue darts over his lips. “You haven’t been feeding properly for – for your entire life, right? You’re like… starved,” he concludes, barely loud enough to be heard. There’s a raw quality to his voice, and his eyes are glassy with an emotion Rafael carefully avoids naming, instead tucking the information like he did with his own. “It’s okay. To get more.”

Sonny’s fingers slide up Rafael’s wrist, brushing delicately over the underside of it, just beneath his sleeve, until he’s shivering. Fingers tightening around Sonny’s wrist in return, Rafael ducks his head and swallows thickly. Gentleness, in this moment, feels like more of a strike than anything Sonny could do to him. Every wall Rafael has constructed since childhood, both emotional and literal, in case of all the psychic shields his mother taught him to maintain to keep his father at bay, trembles with him, threatened by each show of kindness Sonny deems him worthy of. Sonny hums softly, still petting Rafael’s skin gently, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

His mother would have a fit were she to hear about this, now that he thinks about it. Letting a demon in, in any sense, is what she’s been warning him about since he was old enough to speak of his dreams, the ones with the dark figure he would later come to know as his father.

“You’re having more trouble opening up this time,” Sonny muses. His tone strikes Rafael as oddly clinical, which only serves to add to the surreal quality of the moment; maybe this is just another dream. “Uh, is-is it something I’ve done? How can I help you, um, eat?” It’s confusing for him to suddenly waver, a show of weakness in the midst of so much strength Rafael never anticipated, but it’s relieving in its own way.

Rafael shakes his head. “I don’t know. I – I just don’t know.” Belatedly, Rafael realizes his teeth are out.

Sonny’s eyes are searching, so terribly bright it hurts to meet them. “You’ve had a long day already,” he observes. “Maybe you should go home.”

Chest tightening and heart skipping a beat, Rafael cuts his eyes at Sonny, stifling his nerves and maintaining a mask of impassivity. Sonny leans back, looking very much like a deer in headlights as it dawns on him how that may have sounded. His thumb sweeps over the back of Rafael’s hand once more, as if to show he’s sorry but not going to back down, now that he’s said it.

“I don’t – I don’t mean that I would come with you,” he rasps. “Or, if I did,” he tacks on, almost shyly, “I would, uh, only be there to feed you. Y’know?”

Rafael stares at him, this man sitting before him, holding his hand as he offers up everything. His mouth looks so soft, his jaw slackened, and his throat working as he swallows. Without thinking, he reaches out with his free hand to touch the hair at Sonny’s temple, barely greying, and brushes it back.

Carisi blinks, slow. He looks almost sleepy, and maybe a touch pleased. He neither leans into the touch nor pulls away.

“Carisi,” he murmurs.

“Uh-huh?”

“Why are you doing this? I don’t have anything for you.”

Brow furrowing and mouth going tight, Sonny leans back, his eyes finally moving away from Rafael entirely. For a moment, they’re both quiet. Sonny’s fingers are still gentle against Rafael’s pulse.

“I really don’t have some ulterior motive, Rafael.” He withdraws a hand to rub his fingers over his jaw, then back to touch the hair Rafael’s own fingers had brushed. His shoulders lift in an awkward, stiff motion. “When I was a kid, I went a year without eating anything. I was maybe sixteen. I’d been feeding off brushing my sisters’ hair and getting hugs from my mom – nothing sexual. Hell, I didn’t even realize anything –“ He cuts himself off, swallowing visibly. “I didn’t know there were… sexual associations with….” He shrugs again, his eyes firmly on the wall.

When he shows no signs of continuing, his throat still working as if he’s struggling to swallow something down, Rafael inclines his head. “I see,” he says, left with nothing else. He keeps his eyes on the table, sensing Sonny needs the illusion of being hidden, at least for a moment, as it’s something he feels so often himself.

“My sister was…. She was assaulted. She was older than me, but not by much. And that’s when I learned about it – about, uh, what we’re seen as to other people.”

Rafael closes his eyes, chest growing tighter and tighter.

“So I stopped eating.”

Breath leaving him in a rush, Rafael tightens his hand around Sonny’s own. “A year.”

“Uh-huh.”

He takes a deep breath, then lets it leave him just like the last. “So, you sympathize, on some level.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“It still doesn’t feel right.” When Sonny’s brows knit, his expression going petulant and confused, Rafael sighs. “I couldn’t….” He looks down at their hands, closing his eyes. Heartbeat loud in his ears, he gently extracts his hand and Sonny jerks his own back as if horrified at the thought of the touch being unwanted; he probably is. “Taking from you indiscriminately without offering anything in return would be… unfair, to say the least.”

Sonny grins from ear to ear. “That’s what’s bothering you? I’d feel pretty low asking for anything in return.”

“And I’d feel low accepting everything you’re offering.”

That smile stretches impossibly broader. “We could make a deal.”

“A deal with the devil.”

“Could say you’re playing devil’s advocate.”

That shocks a laugh out of Rafael. “You’re terrible.”

“Hey, you started it, counsellor! Anyway, if you really feel like you can’t just accept it as a favor, you could repay me with legal advice. For school. Or, uh, if you’re feeling really magnanimous, you could let me shadow you on a case or something,” he adds, sounding transparently hopeful at the thought. “Or –“ He clears his throat, tugs on his tie. “I’m feeding you, right? So you could buy me dinner sometime, or something like that. I-I don’t mean- I would never ask you to feed me the other way. But, seriously, you don’t gotta. I’d do this for you without anything in return.”

He means it. He’s too damn honest for his own good. It’s perhaps the worst part. Yet Rafael thinks of the dreams, and of his father and his rough touch, and of the first time Rafael tasted blood, and he can’t help the pinch in his chest.

“I know, that’s what makes me wary.”

Laugh bright and handsomer than it has any right to be, Sonny takes Rafael’s hand again, apparently taking this as invitation to continue. “Alright, I can understand that. How about this: I feed you now, you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, and later you buy me some takeout. That’s it. I promise not to sneak into your dreams anymore, instead I’ll just drop by sometimes – here. That sound good?”

Sonny’s hands had been so warm that night. He’d been gentle, and he hadn’t flinched once at the sight of Rafael’s teeth, or his desperate hunger. Their foreheads had touched, their breath had mingled, and Rafael’s skin tingles along his side as he recalls the feeling of Sonny’s skin there. His fingers, here and now, tighten around Rafael’s own.

“It’s fine if you come that way. Through dreams,” he says. It feels as if his voice is coming from somewhere far away rather than his own lips, like someone else is confessing to his desires.

Against his better judgement, he meets Sonny’s eyes; that grin has faded, now Sonny’s lips are parted slightly, as if he wants to speak but is held back. He nods, once, and that’s answer enough. Rafael doesn’t care to consider it any longer.

“It’ll be easier to teach you how to feed on your own outside of dreams,” Sonny explains, voice kinder than it has any right to be. “But I might check on you. Sometimes. To feed you if you need it.”

Not trusting his voice, Rafael nods.

“For now, do you want me to leave? I can feed you now. Or later.”

Rafael must swallow down the saliva that fills his mouth at the thought of drinking Sonny’s blood. He can’t drink his blood, and he knows it, yet that’s what his mind jumps to all too eagerly. If Sonny knew what a hungry monster he is, would he really put himself in this position? So near, and offering so much? Opening himself to a beast?

Buchanan had referred to Sonny as a monster, but the truth is the only monsters are Buchanan and Rafael themselves. Sonny, on the other hand, is giving and considerate – ironically angelic, all things considered. It’s difficult to wrap his head around.

“Hey, no pressure,” Sonny adds, tapping his finger against the side of Rafael’s hand to get his attention.

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Rafael rasps, seeking out Sonny’s gaze. “Are you _sure_?”

Eyes flickering to take in Rafael’s expression and jaw tightening, Sonny seems more animal in that moment than any other, something about him shifting. Perhaps he took Rafael’s words as a threat. Perhaps it would be good if he did.

“I’m sure,” he concludes, firm. “Are you?”

For once, Rafael is honest. “No. But I feel like going against my better judgement just this once.”

“Oh yeah?” Sonny’s smile is returning, starting small and growing larger.

Rafael smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delay.


	9. Oblivescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael shakes like a leaf, wishing he could see the fingers moving along his skin. It would be beautiful—intoxicating—he’d never get enough of the sight and he knows it. It’s best he never sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a description of threatened violence towards a child in the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> If you'd like to skip it, ctrl+f "Rafael wakes up to find" and read from there.
> 
> Please be aware this chapter covers some unhappy family situations in general. As always, feel free to contact me with questions and concerns.

I tried to forget   
But you grew roots around my ribcage  
And sprouted flowers  
Just below my collarbones.  
All day I pluck their petals  
But I have not yet ascertained  
Whether you love me  
Or not

 _Forget Me Not_ by Anna Peters

When Rafael was a child, his first encounter with a vampire outside of his father’s presence in his dreams was in the streets. It was at the age of ten and he was alone only because his mother couldn’t both protect him and work to feed him, and no one else was there for him; Alex was with some girl getting her a shake with what little money he’d managed to scrounge up. Despite dutifully avoiding dark corners and any questionable figures, Rafael had been snatched right up. Pressed against the wall of an alley in the blink of an eye, a man bearing down on him, teeth bared—teeth like Rafael’s own.

Even now, Rafael can easily recall how the man had smelt: rancid—of brimstone, of _rot_ — _demonic_. He had bright eyes and bright skin and bright hair, making him shine in the dark, grimy alley. He’d practically shone, he was sweating so, and his eyes glimmered with something wicked.

“Too pretty for your own good,” the man had said, rasping. “Halfling. Pretty halfling. Bet you’d taste like fucking heaven.”

Even with fear tightening his chest and bile creeping into his mouth, Rafael kicked out, striking a knee, then shoving up with his own knee to nail the softest part of the demon. The man hadn’t shifted at all, too strong a beast to be swayed by a boy so small. Head back, he’d prepared to scream. Fingers had slipped between his teeth, vile against his tongue.

Rafael bit through them and ran home with a mouth full of blood that tasted like destruction where his mother’s tasted like life. Later, she had found him retching into the toilet, his mouth and shirt red, and gathered him up in her arms. He’d cried for the first time in three years.

  

* * *

 

 

Rafael wakes up to find his clock blurred to the point of the numbers being unrecognizable. He blinks at the string of zeros, then blinks again when they don’t shift into any proper form. It leaves his head feeling muzzy and his limbs heavy; his mind and body are struggling to connect. He begins to sit up, but a hand is on his chest, gently pressing him down. He looks down to find pretty, long fingers spread across his chest.

Lips parting around a sigh, Rafael hesitantly reaches up, intending to touch Sonny’s hand, but he wavers. He lets his hand fall back.

“It’s just me,” Sonny assures, voice low and warm. His fingers move to the open collar of Rafael’s shirt, lips pursing into a precious pout, and those pretty fingers ease along the line of his collarbone.

Rafael shakes like a leaf, wishing he could see the fingers moving along his skin. It would be beautiful— _intoxicating_ —he’d never get enough of the sight and he knows it. It’s best he never sees.

“At least take off your suspenders before going to bed,” he adds, voice as petal-soft as his touch. It’s still bizarre that such a rough, fumbling man can be kind the way Carisi is kind. “You mind me helping you out of ‘em?”

Rafael lays back with a sigh, melting though his heart beats faster and his eyes move over Sonny’s form quickly, eager to see everything he can. Sonny’s in flannel pajama pants and an old shirt from the police academy, his hair messy in a boyish way. For the first time Rafael finds himself wondering just how old he is. Is he ancient? Is he barely twenty? It’s hard to say.

He’s perched on the edge of Rafael’s bed like he belongs there—Rafael is half tempted to tell him he does, he does belong here, in his bed and in his head in the dead of night, but his mind is moving too slow for it to slip out, thankfully. It’s a foolish thought anyway. Sonny probably knows a thousand men’s beds.

Something twists in his chest. The thought’s a cruel one—one Sonny certainly doesn’t deserve, and Rafael knows it, knows it should never have slipped into his mind.

“This still okay?” Sonny continues, his fingers brushing Rafael’s throat if only barely. There’s a little crinkle to his brow; it’s absurdly attractive and thankfully distracts from Rafael’s bitterness with himself. “It’s alright if you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t. Change my mind. Help me out of them.”

Rafael sits back up, grunting at the tightness in his lower back. He’d crashed in everything but his jacket and his shoes. It’s honestly a wonder he got to bed at all.

Sonny hums, shushing Rafael’s groans, and smooths his hand over his back to press his fingertips to the tight spots around his spine. “Here,” he whispers, and easily slips the suspenders from his shoulders. His touch is light, his eyes warm.

Rafael goes limp beneath his ministrations, letting Sonny do all the work.

“This?” Sonny asks, even lower, and his soft breath is warm against his cheek. His fingers are lingering at the buttons of Rafael’s shirt. “It’s okay. If not.”

Rafael hums, tipping forward to lean his forehead against Sonny’s brow. He can feel the hitch of Sonny’s breath against his cheek. “Yeah. Take that too.”

And so he does, those lithe fingers easily slipping buttons open one after another until Rafael’s shirt is hanging open between them.

Rafael takes a shuddering breath, eyes closed. He can’t remember the last time someone did this for him—isn’t sure there ever _was_ someone.

“S’alright?”

“I’ll tell you,” Rafael mumbles, sleepy, “if it’s not.”

“Okay.”

The shirt is removed with more care than Rafael has ever used himself. It feels good, so full of affection, though it makes no sense for Sonny to hold such affection for him. He presses closer, cheek brushing Sonny’s.

Sonny shudders against him, sighing weakly. His hands find Rafael’s hair and the small of his back, his lips brush Rafael’s cheek. “Your – Your belt,” he croaks. “Should you, uh, get that bit?”

Rafael reaches down, undoes the belt, and pulls it away with a sharp jerk of his hand.

Sonny huffs out a pretty, breathless laugh like warmth and joy. Sonny, Rafael is convinced, is made of all things good.

“C’mon, lets get under the covers.”

“You too?”

Sonny wavers. He climbs from the bed, and Rafael’s chest grows tight. The urge to beg for him to come back is there, burning at the back of his throat, but he finds himself unable to speak. Instead, he watches as Sonny comes around the bed.

As soon as he’s standing over Rafael, his face cast in the red light of the alarm clock, his hands go to Rafael’s hips, warm around the bones. A small, wretched sound escapes his lips, his eyes falling closed, and he lets his body go soft beneath Sonny. His head lolls back, neck on display; he knows Sonny won’t bite him—isn’t even a vampire—yet he finds he wants him to rather desperately.

Instead of biting him, or laying over him, bearing down on him, Sonny lifts his hips as if he weighs nothing—as if he’s not a grown man. Rafael’s breath stutters, but he stays boneless, not fighting it as he’s laid back down. Then Sonny is tucking him in, pulling the sheets up around his shoulders.

“Alright?”

“Alright,” Rafael echoes. “You too.”

Sonny smiles, and then he’s climbing under the covers by Rafael’s side, opening his arms so Rafael can press close. He’s even kind enough not to comment at how quickly Rafael moves into his space, on the press of Rafael’s teeth to his neck, or the desperation his fierce hold speaks to. No, Sonny is kind, and sweet as sugar and sunshine, so he just hums softly, arms around Rafael’s shoulders as he gasps and shudders and drinks and drinks and _drinks_ something beyond blood—something beyond anything Rafael has ever known.

This time, Rafael doesn’t immediately fall asleep but rather stays wide awake and slightly shaking, clutching at Sonny’s back as he takes breath after breath as one might after being dragged from the depths of the sea.

Through it all, Sonny hushes him, those long fingers playing at Rafael’s temples as if Rafael’s touch earlier has inspired him to explore his hair. He’s warm and open. He’s soft. He kisses Rafael’s temples then moves his fingers over the spots as if to erase the memory of it—as if he ever could.

“How do I know if I’ve drank too much?” Rafael croaks, secretly considering what it would be like for his teeth to accidentally draw blood. Even if he’d never let himself, the deep-seated desire reminds him again of his monstrous being, and he pulls his mouth back from the soft temptation of Sonny’s skin.

Oblivious to it, Sonny cards his fingers through Rafael’s hair. Rafael feels dizzy.

“If you feed like this from a human, they’ll feel pretty fatigued. It’s usually better to do this sort of thing at night. If you drink too much, they’ll pass right out. If you keep going…” he trails off.

“Death.”

“Yeah. Yeah, death.”

  

* * *

 

 

Rafael doesn’t dream, not when Sonny is there, holding his mind captive; one of the benefits of a deal with a demon of dreams, he supposes. He dreams other nights, though. Dreams of work, of Rita, Liv, Carisi. Dreams of his father, on nights he tries to forget, but he can always tell they’re dreams.

This time is different.

He’s immediately reminded of his childhood, when everything in his mind would go velvet black until he found himself standing by his father’s side, surrounded by a cold light. In hindsight, he can’t help comparing it to being interrogated. He’s in that same velvet black now. It’s cold where the honey-slow space Sonny creates is warm, vast where Sonny’s is close and comforting, and disarming where Sonny’s is like being soaked in whiskey and the scent of home.

A chill crawls up his spine. Blood roaring in his ears, Rafael clenches his teeth, feeling the pricking of his teeth as they elongate. He glances over his shoulder, catching the grey of light. Despite the heaviness of his feet and the hard beat of his heart, he forces himself to turn. He’s been left ungrounded in a space with only toxic familiarity, and all he can think about is how nice it would be to slip back into bed—into Sonny’s arms. The only way to go out, to go back, is to go through.

He turns. There’s a table. It’s his kitchen table from childhood, square and with so many cracks but used so much it grew smooth, without splinters.

His stomach bottoms out, but he stumbles to the table anyway, still thinking of Sonny. Sonny’s scent. Sonny’s smile. Focusing on Sonny.

 _Sunshine_. _Sunshine in a place of darkness_.

This is all far too intimate, his thoughts.

The father sits across from him, his head tilted down so Rafael can’t see his eyes. He’s in black, like he’s always been, and likely always will be. “Are you still scared?”

When he looks up, Rafael looks away, over his shoulder.

“It’s been a while. Your mother… taught you well. Kept me away for a long time, didn’t you?”

Sonny must have left. That must be what has allowed for this. Maybe there’s a way to call him back, to get Sonny to pull him right out of this.

“You let them down, but not for me, I take it. The walls, I mean.”

Meeting his eyes takes Rafael by surprise, as it’s so much easier than he expected. “Not for you, no.”

His father sniffs, lips twitching. “Fair. So, do I get to ask who _mi hijo_ has been… letting in?”

That startles a laugh from his lips. “No, no you don’t.”

His tongue drags over his teeth and he presses his hands flat to the table, tendons in his jaw twitching.

Unimpressed, Rafael leans back and regards the show with shuttered eyes.

“Rafael, I’m your father. It’s only natural that I ask if you’re involved with a succubus when you… _smell_ like this.”

It’s as if a knife has been plunged into his gut.

“Succuba are fine for quick fucks, but not anything intimate—like this. If there’s anyone you should be keeping your walls up around, it’s her.”

Rafael’s breath leaves him in a rush; the knife has twisted. “You don’t have that right. You don’t have any right to involve yourself in my life, after everything.”

“You sound like a _child_ ,” he groans yet his smile is sharp and tilted.

Fingers closing into a fist, Rafael presses his knuckles to the table to ground himself. “What do you want?”

Opening his arms in a sweeping motion, he smiles thinly. “Can a man not worry about his son?”

“Not a man like you, if one can even call you a man.”

Laughing, he leans back. “Why are you fucking a, uh….” He waves his hand.

“Incubus,” Rafael corrects, watching his father go stiff, eyes sweeping over Rafael as if in search of a sign he’s joking. “And we’re not… having sex.”

He looks puzzled. “You feed from him?”

“In a sense.”

Tilting his head, he frowns. “And… that involves this man entering your mental space?”

Rafael quirks a brow. “Again, this isn’t your business.”

“You do know I didn’t leave because I wanted to, don’t you? Had you continued to let me in—“

His knuckles feel bruised. “Visiting me in my dreams does not a father make. If you wanted to be in my life, you should have stayed.”

He looks down, studying Rafael’s clenched fist. “Let me make it up to you.”

“If you wanted to ‘make it up’ to me, you wouldn’t have come to me like this, to complain about who I do or don’t interact with.”

Rafael stands from the table and walks into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

“Rafa?”

Rafael jumps. When he finds himself trapped, he presses his fists against the body against his, teeth bared as he rears back. It’s hot— _stifling_. He can hardly breathe. Can hardly move his feet.

“Hey. Hey, do you need me to back off?” Lips are at his ear. Sonny’s breath is hot, hot all over.

Realization hits him hard, right between the ribs, and Rafael gasps. In a blink, he stops pressing back to instead move closer. “ _Me salvé por un pelo_ ,” he croaks, fingers clutching at the lines of Sonny’s shoulders. Sonny immediately cradles him against his chest, gentle as always.

“My, uh, Spanish is a little—"

“It’s nothing,” Rafael laughs, the sound tense and breathy, but it brings him relief, letting it out.

Sonny accepts it without question, a small blessing. “Rafa, I don’t know who’s trying to get in your dreams other than me, but stay here, alright?”

Rafael wraps himself around Sonny as tightly as he can, relieved in a way he can’t begin to describe. “Don’t let me go.”

“Oh,” Sonny whispers, nosing against his ear and smoothing his hands down his back. They’re curled against each other again, face to face, cheeks brushing and sometimes noses as they crowd closer.

Rafael touches Sonny’s elbow. “Hand?”

“Huh?”

“Can I hold it?” he whispers, nearly croaking. “Your hand?”

“ _Oh_ ,” he repeats, and then his fingers are tangling with Rafael’s. “I can do that. Yeah.”

The beat of his heart grows soft, falling into sync with Sonny’s.

He doesn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and kind words!


	10. C12H22O11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know… you smell like sex, Rafa.”
> 
> “Rita.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C12H22O11: Chemical formula of common sugar
> 
> This chapter is where we finally dip our toes into that E rating!

Within all of us is a divine capacity to manifest and attract all that we need and desire.

_Wayne Dyer_

 

Rafael wakes, boneless. Everything is fuzzy with pleasure. For a few long, pathetic moments he finds himself simply touching his own skin, fingers dragging over his cheek, down his throat – His breath shudders out of him, head rolling back against the pillows as he gives in and lets himself brush his thumb over his nipple. The twitch that travels from his chest to his feet is one he can’t stop. His cheeks are painted hot.

Sonny had kissed him. Not on the lips, of course, but on the temple. Has his heart stuttering in his chest just thinking about it.

What had compelled Sonny to do it? He’ll probably never know, but the question is there, hounding him.

He pinches lightly, without thinking; it’s automatic. The pleasure lights him up, makes his cock pulse against his thigh despite still being soft. He feels wrung out and dazed where he usually feels hollow but prepared to start the day, yet it’s enjoyable in its own way.

He’s alone—of course he’s alone. He wishes he weren’t.

He wishes it were Sonny’s thumb dragging over his nipple. Sonny’s fingers slipping into his mouth.

With slick fingers, he jerks himself to completion. He gasps and shakes as he comes.

He wants Sonny’s hand back in his own.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Rita gasps, rushing into Rafael’s office, her hands held up as if in surrender. Her face is contorted into some ridiculous twist of happiness and horror, jaw slack and eyes bulging.

Rafael keeps his head down, trying to focus on his paperwork.

“Buchanan told me you slept with him, but I didn’t believe him,” she breathes, hurrying to take the seat in front of Rafael’s desk. “My _god_ ,” she repeats, just as breathless as before, if not more so. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Rafael mutters. Pauses. “In that sense.”

Her brows inch upwards.

“We’ve been… sharing a—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “He comes into my dreams sometimes. And we sleep.”

Her jaw goes slacker still. “The dream demon,” she murmurs, “the one that feeds on desire and sex, comes into your dreams and… what? You expect me to believe he doesn’t fuck you? Just slips in your head to talk shop? Cuddles you? What are we talking?”

Burning with embarrassment, Rafael clears his throat and keeps his eyes down. “Well, I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.”

Her hand comes down on the counter, the sound sharp; his heart shoots to his throat. “ _Rafa_ , what in god’s name are you doing with him?”

Groaning, he leans back in his chair, eyes closed and breaths coming purposefully slow in hopes of easing the racing of his heart. “He feeds me. Psychically, or whatever it’s called.”

“An _incubus_?” she hisses, half smiling yet still looking as if she could fall into shocked ranting at any moment.

“Yes, I believe we’ve covered that, Rita.”

The smile grows. “And… he feeds you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he groans.

“Do you…?” She makes a vague motion with her hand.

He tips his head back, covering his eyes with a hand. “Do I what?”

“Feed him?”

“ _No_.”

She huffs out a breath, her chair creaking as she leans back too. There’s a long moment of quiet, giving Rafael a chance to catch his breath. He feels about ready to fall apart with the slightest touch, as if the more contact with Sonny and his pretty eyes and his doting attentions, the more his carefully constructed world cracks.

Now, in the silence, the thoughts of his father return, and he’s half tempted to tell Rita, as sudden as it would be. It’s the type of thing he can’t really share with Olivia, though he wishes he could. It’s the last thing he wants to talk about now, though.

“Are you okay?” Rita finally asks, quieter. “He isn’t hurting you, is he?”

“God, no. He’s— _”_ _sweet as spun sugar_. “He’s a good man.”

Rita’s eyes light right up. “Oh?”

Rafael groans and covers his eyes once more.

“You know… you smell like sex, Rafa.”

“ _Rita_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Work is odd in that it’s not awkward. Sonny doesn’t act any differently than he would usually. He’s so convincing, Rafael finds himself questioning if their nights happen at all. With as cool and calm as Sonny is, the dreams could very well be his own imagination. Each time he begins to slip into the trap of such thoughts, Sonny will stumble into his office with the same ease he comes into his dreams, and his smile will go gentle and shy in the loveliest of ways. And Rafael will know.

Sonny grows on him, quick and so sweet. It’s easy to enjoy him, even when he pesters and gets a little too big for his boots. Even when he asks too many questions or tries to push his way into the courtroom as if he’s a lawyer. Rafael just makes sure he doesn’t know that.

Their odd arrangement is one thing, even a friendship forming between them would be fine, but something deeper is another matter entirely.

It’s pathetic, honestly. Rafael is just falling all over the first man to show him any affection, and he knows he is. Obviously, there’s no man quite like Sonny that Rafael has ever met, and Rafael doubts he’ll ever meet anyone quite as generous and kind, but he knows himself well enough to say it’s simply his own pathetic clinginess.

He doesn’t really know Sonny, at the end of the day. All he knows is what he sees at work, and what he sees in the dreams, which isn’t much at all other than the softness. Such softness. It’s difficult to handle, and yet he wants so much more. He wants to have Sonny outside of the dreams, too. He wants to taste him, blood and pretty cock both. He wants it, and so suddenly, he must question if he’s being affected by Sonny’s nature.

He knows without question that, if he is, Sonny isn’t doing it on purpose.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” Sonny says, dropping a file on Rafael’s desk.

Rafael looks up at him, unamused. “Hello to you, too.”

Sonny just shoots him a cocky grin and taps the folder. “Gotta ask you something. Legal question.”

“I’m not your personal lawyer, Carisi.”

“Really?” he teases, taking a seat across from him, legs crossed. That smile is too pretty—has no right to be that pretty. “Could have fooled me.”

“Fooling you isn’t a particularly difficult task.”

And good lord, that smile goes blinding.

Rafael could kiss him. It’s a foolish desire.

 

* * *

 

 

Sonny’s hand is on his hip, stroking softly. He keeps humming, as if content, and nosing at Rafael’s hair. Each time, Rafael can’t help but try to press closer—to pull Sonny closer, anything. Wants to climb inside him and never leave.

He’s a goddamn fool—knows he’s a fool, and yet he can’t stop himself. Sonny is just such a temptation and Rafael a weaker man than he’s ever realized.

“Carisi.”

Sonny laughs into his hair, stirring it, then reaches up to smooth it down with the hand that had been squeezing his hip so nicely. “We’re in your dreams. Call me Sonny.”

“Sonny.”

“Better.”

Rafael considers what he’s about to do for a moment longer, basking in the warmth while he can. “Will there be any… effects from feeding on you?” His stomach twists as soon as he’s said it. He closes his eyes against it.

Sonny’s stroking of his hair stops immediately, his fingers curling against his scalp, but not hurting—not for a moment. “Whaddya mean?” His voice is tense.

Rafael presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to say it. It would feel too much like an accusation no matter how he says it, and he doesn’t mean it that way. It won’t come out. Maybe it shouldn’t.

“Hey, Rafa,” he says, soft. His fingers find his ear, playing lightly.

Rafael shivers, helpless to it. Pleasure stirs in the pit of his stomach, warm like embers.

“I’m not gonna make you wanna….” He clears his throat. “Feeding from me won’t make you want to have sex with me. Or anyone. If you…. If you ingested my blood or—other bodily… fluids, it would be different. So, no, it’s not because of feeding from me.”

Rafael blinks, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. His stomach sinks further and further, darkness yawning open in his chest. “You can tell?” he croaks.

“Huh?” He knows exactly what Rafael means, Rafael can tell by the tightness of his back and shoulders, and the stuttering of his chest. “’Tell’?”

Sonny can probably smell Rafael’s attraction and desire. Probably has been able to since the start. The muscles of his stomach tighten and spasm. His face is hot.

Taking a deep breath, Rafael begins to extract himself from the tangle he’s formed with Sonny’s body. He goes slow and small, first his arm from Sonny’s waist, then his leg from where it’s been trapped between Sonny’s own, and Sonny lets him. He’s too kind not to. Too kind not to tell an old man to fuck off when he gets an inappropriate crush.

Rafael feels flushed with his humiliation, his heart aching in such a physical, terrible way he suspects it may stop working at any moment. He let himself _want_ , and so quickly. So very, very pathetic.

Judging by the twisting in the pit of his stomach, he may be physically ill.

Sonny’s fingers tighten in his hair, the pinch of pain just enough to shock Rafael into stillness. In all this time, Sonny hasn’t caused him even a moment of pain, and the sudden appearance of it, even in such a dull, small way, has everything going blank. As fast as it happens, it stops.

“I—Fuck, Rafael, I’m sorry,” Sonny says, choked enough that Rafael twists his head back to look at him. Sonny’s eyes are fever-bright in the dark, and his lips are parted like words are there, wishing to be spoken. “I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I’m telling the truth. I didn’t make you want me like that. I really didn’t. I wouldn’t. I— _couldn’t_.”

“Carisi—Sonny,” Rafael murmurs, hands hovering over him, hesitant to touch but wanting, desperately, to calm him. “No, I—Christ, Sonny, I didn’t think you _lied_. I—” He swallows, watching Sonny’s eyes dart over his face, searching. “If you didn’t do it on purpose, and I know you didn’t, then the only other options are that it’s an accident, or I’m….”

Sonny’s brows knit together.

He’s being unfair. He’s being a child. His father was right, he’s nothing more than a cowardly _child_.

“I knew,” Rafael continues, hoarse. “I knew that it was me. I just wanted to check.”

His face goes tighter, expression petulant. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Rafael looks away, unable to face him any longer. “I’m attracted to you.”

“Okay. I’m not mad. Or… upset.” He swallows, then wets his lips. His fingers begin to pet again. “You want to come back? To bed?” He wets his lips again. “I’d like to hold you more.”

Rafael swallows, compulsively mirroring Sonny’s own actions. “That won’t help with the attraction.”

Sonny’s eyes are on his lips. “I, uh, might be guilty of the same attraction. If we’re being honest.”

Breathing deeply, Rafael tightens his grip on the sheets beneath his hand. “I thought you had a girlfriend.”

Sonny frowns, shaking his head. “Just a woman who lets me feed from her. It’s not…. It’s not romantic. We can talk about it another time. I’ll just leave for now, yeah? Let you sleep. I can feed you tomorrow, after we sort through things.”

Raphael nods slowly, thinking it over. “Alright.”

Lips quirking, Sonny tugs him back into bed, one hand in his hair and the other stroking his back. His laughter is soft and wondrous. Raphael has to question if he’s dreaming.

“It’s okay if I send you off to sleep, right?” Sonny asks, nosing at his hair once more.

Rafael can’t help but melt into it, humming whatever consent he needs to. He has no clue what that means, but then Sonny’s lips are at his forehead, and he’s easily succumbing to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts on this piece! Both good and bad, as long as it's constructive.
> 
> As always, thank you all for your continued support.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** Mentions of rape/non-con, implied/referenced non/dub-con, mentions of drug use, blood and the consumption of blood
> 
> If you like this you should check out my other Barisi work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11921814/chapters/26942637)!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you!


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